


Divine Favors

by GothamCityRollerGirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: An Unintended Comedy, Based on a Tumblr Post, Geralt and Jaskier may or may not be a thing it's too early to tell, Geralt certainly does not know how this game is played, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier has fucked a lot of Gods, Jaskier is a player, Jaskier is super chill, Jaskier knows how this game is played, M/M, There is an E rating for a reason, This Whole Thing is Ridiculously Goofy, there will be smut i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamCityRollerGirl/pseuds/GothamCityRollerGirl
Summary: Based on a Tumblr Post from @imweakmylove "Proposition: Jaskier's not immortal because of any fae blood or anything, he's immortal because he's fucked enough deities for them to agree that they want him to stick around for as long as possible."******************************************************************************************************************************“Jaskier, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never changed.”“Why mess with perfection, darling?” Jaskier replied back, winking.“No, no – that’s…not what I meant.  You haven’t aged.”  Geralt was looking at the bard pointedly, across the tabletop where they sat.“Meh.  Good genes, I guess,” Jaskier shrugged, not sure of what else to say.*****************************************************************************************************************************Or, Jaskier has MAJOR game and Geralt MAY OR MAY NOT BE DOWN WITH IT.  He's still not sure.  But his interest is piqued.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 418
Kudos: 693





	1. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier encounter some Nereid and...things do not go the way the Witcher expects.
> 
> At ALL.

“Jaskier, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never changed.”

“Why mess with perfection, darling?” Jaskier replied back, winking.

“No, no – that’s…not what I meant. You haven’t _aged_.” Geralt was looking at the bard pointedly, across the tabletop where they sat.

“Meh. Good genes, I guess,” Jaskier shrugged, not sure of what else to say.

Geralt hummed, frowning. That couldn’t be it. It _couldn’t_. Not a single grey hair, or wrinkle to be found on the bard’s handsome face (that last bit Geralt admitted to himself quite grudgingly). It was…unnatural. They’d been friends for TWENTY YEARS. Surely in that time Jaskier would have acquired crow’s feet, or at the very least a frown line. At the very least. For the duration of their friendship, Geralt’s medallion had never reacted to Jaskier, so it wasn’t _magic_ , necessarily. Geralt just didn’t know what it was. And the not knowing bothered him. Tremendously.

*****

Geralt decided he needed to test it out, but he wasn’t sure _how_. He wasn’t sure what he was testing, exactly. Was Jaskier immortal? _Sure_ , Jaskier always seemed to come out on the right side of whatever they were fighting, and sure, there had been a _few_ instances where ‘coming out on the right side’ couldn’t exactly be explained.

Like that one time with the lake. Geralt had pulled a notice off a board in Dorian, which lay to the east of Gors Velen, to take care of three Nereid that had been plaguing local fishermen. Nereid were notoriously territorial, and humans were notoriously stupid when it came to strange, glowing, floating blue women. Floating women that could drown you while you stood on dry land. Floating women that could call a hurricane to surround you should you get to close.

And get too close was exactly what Jaskier did. Because Jaskier, lovable, sunny, cheerful bard that he was – was a notoriously stupid human. Geralt saw it all happen in slow motion – Jaskier, eyes wide at the scene before them, asking Geralt ‘But, Geralt, what _are_ they?’ in that way he had, that way that made Geralt want to growl with frustration but answer anyway. Jaskier, walking closer – _too_ close – and Geralt yelling – actually yelling for him to stand back. Geralt sure he will either have to perform mouth-to-mouth (but would that be so bad?) or drag a water-logged corpse back to shore (now that would be bad. Terrible. Bad Thought). The Nereid whipping around to glare at Jaskier, who is still _too close_. The Nereid whisking Jaskier into a miniature hurricane, sending him out into the middle of the lake, hovering. Geralt, momentarily frozen, seeing his beloved friend being tossed about inside the hurricane, gasping for breath. Jaskier – being physically removed from said hurricane by a _wave_ , swept out to shore on the far side of the lake, away from the trio of Nereid. Jaskier standing up, wringing out his tunic, no worse for wear.

Geralt dispatched the Nereid with no further issue, and was bewildered to discover Jaskier thought the whole ordeal _to be of no consequence_. It was as if being physically removed from a Nereid’s clutches in the midst of actively drowning was as ordinary as feeding Roach an apple.

“What do you mean it’s no big deal?” Geralt bellowed, having no good explanation for what he’d just witnessed.

Jaskier only shrugged. “I guess, it’s just…I’ve had good luck with water, ever since I met the Lady of the Lake.”

“What do you mean, you _met_ her?” Geralt growled. _He’d_ met the Lady in the Lake, and couldn’t say he’d been especially lucky with water since that rendezvous.

“I played her a song, and after…we got to know each other better.” Jaskier evaded, his face blank.

“ _How_ much better?” Geralt pressed. He wasn’t sure why he needed to know, exactly, but his curiosity was an itch he couldn’t ignore.

“About as well as you know Yennifer, I’d expect. Minus all the cursing. With actual curses, mind you.” Geralt watched Jaskier shudder, like the very thought of Yennifer was enough to make his skin crawl.

“ _When_ did you meet her?” Geralt asked, eyes narrowed. He was positive – absolutely _positive_ – this hadn’t happened in their time together.

“What year is it, exactly?” Jaskier asked, scrunching up his face and counting off on his fingers. “Mmmhhmm, give or take a century, I’d guess?”

“Give or take a _WHAT_?” Geralt sputtered, speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> So this was based on a Tumblr prompt, and I'd be HAPPY to take suggestions for the next chapter (setting/deity/situation).


	2. Fuck The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finds out that Jaskier added another divine notch to his proverbial bedpost, a long, long time ago.
> 
> AND GERALT IS NOT PLEASED.

Geralt was grumpy. It was a full moon, and all things being equal, he _hated_ the moon. Absolutely hated it. It controlled things – tides, were-creatures, strangeness in general. Geralt didn’t trust it. Never had. When he was a pup at Kaer Morhen, he and his brothers would yell and throw things (not many things, mind you – Vesemir’s patience had its limits) during full moons. He’d…mostly grown out of that. Mostly.

Until Jaskier started composing a fucking song about the damn thing.

They were camping near a forest outside of Rinde, campfire all crackles and sparks front of them. Jaskier, lute in hand as always, when not otherwise occupied, started muttering a tune.

_Shining in the darkness of my heart_

_Your brightness fills my soul_

_And no matter all the miles apart_

_It is you who makes me whole_

“Fuck the moon!” Geralt yelled, after Jaskier’s fingers were silent a moment.

“Oi, you! That’s enough! I’ll have you know Lilvani is delightful.”

“You’re _shitting_ me.” Geralt groaned, dragging a hand down his face in disbelief. “Is she… _another_ one of your divine conquests?” Geralt couldn’t believe what he was asking. He couldn’t believe what he was _hearing_.

“As a matter of fact, she is.” Jaskier said, with no small amount of glee.

“And where, praytell, did you meet said goddess?” The annoyance in his voice was clear.

“It was a Harvest Festival, in Ellander, oh, some…two hundred years ago? Thereabouts?”

“And…what did you _do_ , with said goddess?” Geralt asked, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to know. He _absolutely_ didn’t want to know. But he _did_.

“Geralt! I would never kiss and tell!” Jaskier cried, a wicked grin on his face. Geralt could tell Jaskier was _loving_ getting a rise out of him. And Geralt hated himself for it.

“Humor me.” Geralt growled.

“She found me after I played a song about lost loves – she told me a story of two ill fated lovers, cursed to spend their days apart – who could only see one another at dawn and dusk, for the briefest of moments, until the rising of the sun or moon.”

“And…that’s it? She told you a _story_?” Geralt couldn’t keep the sneer off his face, but he wasn’t trying _that_ hard. He didn’t really know why he was baiting the bard; if anything, it was the sheer impossibility of one human having had _more than one_ divine fuck fest. Especially _this_ human. _His_ human. _His_ bard.

“Well, then she dragged me to a stable and fucked my brains out till dawn, but I didn’t think you wanted me to expound upon that part, necessarily.” Jaskier said, laughing nervously. “Gods, I must have come…eight? times that night? There was _definitely_ some magic going on that Harvest, if you know what I mean.”

Geralt grunted and found himself grinding his teeth. He often found himself grinding his teeth around Jaskier, but usually it was out of irritation. Well, this was also out of irritation, but for an entirely different reason altogether. Usually, Jaskier was just…irritating. Irritatingly enthusiastic, irritatingly positive, irritatingly chatty, irritatingly invasive of Geralt’s personal space (although that last one had become much less irritating, in recent months). This was different.

Geralt was irritated that Jaskier…was having sex with other people.

Wait, what?

But that _couldn’t_ be right. Jaskier had sex with other people _all the time_. Well, Jaskier _had_ had sex with people all the time. Used to. Past tense.

When had that stopped, exactly? Geralt couldn’t be sure. He frowned in concentration. The last inn? No, Jaskier had come directly to their room after his set. The town before that? No, they were in and out of that town so quickly there hadn’t been time, even for Jaskier. Before that…was a banquet Geralt _did not_ want to attend, but Jaskier had made him promise to drag him out before he made any ‘bad decisions’ (whatever that meant).

What _did_ that mean? When was the last time Jaskier had been…intimate…with someone else?

And why did Geralt _care_ so much about it?

In the back of his mind, he realized Jaskier had resumed strumming the lute, but refrained from singing. No more lyrics about the fucking moon and the fucking moon goddess who had fucked his bard. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

Jaskier was older than _he_ was.

Fuck the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> So - second chapter in! I think I have an idea where this is going! That's good!
> 
> Credit for the lyrics below go to my husband, whom I pressed into service because he is far more creative than I.
> 
> So, thank you, WordSmith Husband, for your wonderful contribution to this chapter!
> 
> As always, comments welcome! Additional inspiration for further chapters would be a gift!
> 
> Stay Safe and Be Kind!


	3. The God of War is Pansexual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out the God of War, Svalbod, is a big fan of Jaskier.
> 
> BIG FAN. Big enough to give vague, cryptic hints of future times and places to avoid.
> 
> Geralt remains confused. (Are you really surprised? You shouldn't be.)

The ongoing war with Nilfgaard was becoming…troublesome. Troublesome to avoid, at any rate. They were at least twenty miles outside of Vizima, a good-sized city, and Geralt was looking forward to a bath and a _bed_.

Gods, they hadn’t slept in a bed in _weeks_. Weeks. Which was odd, because usually Jaskier was begging to stick to cities as often as possible. More cities meant more busking. More busking meant more money. More money meant…well, everything. Food, beds, food for Roach, food and food. Jaskier _never_ turned down the opportunity to sleep in a bed.

Never.

Until now.

“Geralt, I really think – can we please – just go this way? Please?” Jaskier was pleading as they came to a fork in the road. The fork Geralt wanted led toward Vizima, and a bed. The fork Jaskier wanted led to…nothing. Just more road.

Geralt hummed in frustration. Jaskier never argued against cities. Usually his pleading leaned heavily in the other direction, toward food, and more importantly – beds.

“Jask – that way doesn’t _go anywhere_! There isn’t a city that way!”

“Geralt, I know. I just – I have a bad feeling about going to Vizima.”

“You have a bad feeling.” Geralt repeated, dryly, eyebrow raised. This ought to be good. A bad feeling, indeed. “Jaskier. There are beds in Vizima. We haven’t slept in a bed in _weeks_.”

“ _I know_.”

“But you still don’t think we should go.”

“No.”

“Why.”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Jaskier. I laugh at you all the time.” And it was true, although not for the reason Jaskier thought. Geralt would never admit it, but he secretly thought Jaskier was fucking hysterical. He was just one walking, talking goddamn delight.

“Well, alright, yes, yes you do – and don’t think I don’t notice, Geralt! Sometimes your teasing isn’t funny!” Jaskier said, flustered, speaking quickly – the way he did when something was secretly bothering him, but he didn’t want to admit it. Geralt frowned. He hadn’t meant to hurt Jaskier’s feelings just then. He’d have to be more careful.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-“ Geralt started, but Jaskier cut him off.

“No, no – it’s fine. I’ve gotten used to it by now.” Jaskier said, sounding defeated.

Shit. That’s – shit. SHIT. Fuck.

“Anyway.” Jaskier plowed ahead. “Do you remember last winter, right before you left for Kaer Morhen, that one inn where we stayed?”

“The Hog’s Head – no, the Boar’s head, no – the Sow’s Tail!”

“Yes! The Sow’s Tail. That one.”

“Isn’t that the one where you met that guy-“ Geralt hated to remember it. That may have been the last time he’d seen Jaskier go off with someone else. And Geralt remembered that someone else. He’d been huge – almost larger than Geralt was himself. And…not what Geralt would have considered to be Jaskier’s…type. He wasn’t – Gods, forgive him for thinking it – pretty. He was – rough. Like he knew how to use his hands for more than, well. For more than _that_. Geralt had seen Jaskier talking up the Mountain after his set that night, saw the familiar twinkle in Jaskier’s eye. Geralt took himself up to their room after that, not wanting to stick around for an up-close peek of Jaskier seducing someone Geralt didn’t think was good enough for him.

“Reminded me of you, actually,” Jaskier said mildly.

WHAT. WHAT. Wait. What.

Geralt almost choked. “What?” he managed to croak. Geralt had not realized that was a…thing Jaskier looked for. Or wanted. Or wanted and looked for.

“Wasn’t much for talking. Strong, silent type. Huge-“

“Jaskier, I DO NOT want to hear-“

“Arms, Geralt. His arms. Were like tree trunks. Like yours.”

“Oh.”

“But after, when he did speak, he said something…curious.”

Geralt just raised his eyebrow, waiting.

“Bear – he said his name was Bear, at first – told me the following Belleteyn, well, around Belleteyn anyway, to avoid Vizima. Specifically.”

“Two points. One – his name was Bear _at first_? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“And the second point?”

“He was specific about Vizima. Specifically.”

“As I said. Specifically to avoid Vizima. Around Belleteyn. Which it is. Right now.”

Geralt felt himself clenching his jaw. “And his name?” he growled.

“Ah. About that. Well. Funny story, that,” Jaskier started, nervously.

“Jaskier.”

“Right. Right. Svalbod. He introduced himself as Svalbod…afterwards.”

“Svalbod.”

“Yes.”

“ _THE_ _Svalbod_.”

“Yes.”

“The fucking GOD OF WAR, Svalbod.”

“The very same.”

“You fucked the GOD OF WAR, Jaskier?”

“Acrobatically and enthusiastically. Yes.” Jaskier replied. The mental images that brought to mind were enough to render Geralt incapable of speech for several seconds.

When he’d regained his ability to speak, Geralt asked “And the God of War specifically told you to avoid Vizima, around Belleteyn.”

“Yes.”

“Did the God of War happen to mention any _other_ places to avoid going?” Geralt found himself pinching the bridge of his nose. This was – this was too much.

“No.”

“Did he tell you _why_?” Geralt was almost beside himself with…something. He was feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with information about his best friend.

“He said he wanted to make sure my immortality didn’t go to waste.”

“He wanted to what? Your what? Your WHAT? You’re WHAT?” Geralt was staring, openmouthed, dumbfounded at his bard. His…immortal bard.

His bard was immortal.

What the ACTUAL FUCK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! We're really moving now! Three Gods down! (Oh, the jokes that could be made...)
> 
> As always, comments greatly appreciated!
> 
> Stay safe, be kind!


	4. Fertile Abundance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOW MANY PREGNANT WOMEN CAN FIT INTO RINDE AT ONE TIME?
> 
> Really, it's not a joke.
> 
> More than feasibly should be, at any rate.
> 
> I wonder why? Don't you wonder? Maybe you should.

“So, you’re…immortal.” Geralt’s lips are pursed as he speaks. He’s still unsure how he feels about it – he’s still unsure how it _works_. Highly skeptical. That’s how he feels. But. _But_. There are those things Geralt just can’t…explain.

They’re back in Rinde – Jaskier _finally_ relented and agreed to stay in town for a couple of days. Thank the GODS. (How…how many of _those_ is Jask up to, Geralt wonders, in the far recesses of his mind. He’s too afraid to ask. Embarrassed. Embarrassed and afraid.) Towns mean _beds_.

That’s when Geralt noticed the first heavily pregnant woman walk past them, in the market.

“Hmm? Oh, that. That’s just what Svalbod said.” Jaskier waved his hand, as if to dismiss the notion entirely.

“So you’re not even sure if it’s _true_?” Geralt was dumbfounded. How could – _how_ could his bard be so…nonchalant about something like this? THIS WAS BIG. IMPORTANT. LIFE-ALTERINGLY IMPORTANT.

“Geralt, aside from being your stalwart companion, through thick and thin, for better or worse – more worse, I’d wager – it’s not as if I set out to test it at every opportunity. Or, _any_ opportunity.” Jaskier stops and looks at him, intently, then his eyes dart away and his brow furrows as he follows the figure of a woman. Geralt turns to look, to see what caught the eye of his bard, and Geralt sees two additional pregnant women walking together in the market.

For a total of three pregnant women, in case anyone was keeping track.

“Geralt – did you see-“

“Yeah. Three, so far.”

“I’ve seen five. Not counting those two.” Jaskier looked back at him. “That’s…not normal, yeah?”

Geralt hummed in confirmation.

Total of pregnant women is now eight, for those that wish to know.

The two looked at one another, furrowed brows mirroring one another.

“Is this a…Witcher thing?” Jaskier’s curiosity was easy to recognize.

“Jask – you know that Witcher’s can’t-“ Geralt started, rolling his eyes.

“Geralt. To investigate. Is this a Witcher thing to _investigate_.” Now Jaskier was the one rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt – you seem…distracted, lately – is everything all right?” Jaskier was regarding him curiously, as one might regard a panther in a book shop.

Geralt looked away, grunting. He wasn’t…distracted, was he? By what? Or, whom?

_Well_. _That’s_ the question, certainly. It couldn’t be a certain bard; whose cornflower blue eyes were like the sky on a clear summer day. Whose smile was something Geralt loved more than anything else in the world. Who smelled, to Geralt, like what the word ‘home’ meant. It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

Shit. Well, shit. Geralt wasn’t even a fan of poetry, necessarily. Hardly. Unless it came to Jaskier’s songs. Those he tolerated. Enjoyed, even. But that was a secret. If Jaskier ever found out Geralt loved his songs, he’d never hear the end of it.

Jaskier stopped at a market stall selling scented oils. The stall itself was overwhelming in terms of the sheer number of scents comingled, to Geralt’s Witcher enhanced senses, anyway. He took a few steps back, and noticed four _more_ pregnant women. _Different_ pregnant women.

The total of pregnant women now stands at 12, for our intrepid observers.

That number’s a little high, for a town this size, Geralt thinks.

He wanders over to a stall selling sweets and pastries; picks up a raspberry jam filled danish for Jaskier (his favourite) and sweetbread, for himself. He wanders back to Jaskier, who had just finished up his purchasing, and hands him the pastry. Geralt watches as Jaskier’s eyes widen, and a flush creep up his cheeks.

“Thank you, Geralt!” Jaskier cried, clapping his hands together. “I don’t – thank you!” Jaskier leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt almost fainted.

Bard cheek-kisses weren’t a new phenomenon; Geralt had been the recipient of many, over the years. They just…felt different, now. More important, somehow.

Geralt wondered if Jaskier felt the same way.

Geralt wondered if Jaskier _felt the same way_.

Oh, Gods. Geralt had never _thought_ about that, before.

What if he _didn’t_.

What if he DID.

Geralt noticed Jaskier was watching him with rapt fascination. “What?” he snapped, shoving the last of his sweetbread into his mouth.

“Distracted,” was all Jaskier said, with a little smile. “Shall we?” Jaskier asked, gesturing in front of them, to the town square. He took Geralt’s arm as they walked, which made a blush settle on Geralt’s cheeks.

On the way, they noted _five more_ , different, pregnant women.

Our total is now 17 pregnant women, in Rinde, for those of us who are keeping a current tally.

“Ok, Geralt, this is – I don’t even know what this is – but it isn’t _normal_ , is it?” Jaskier asked, eyes wide.

“No.” The Witcher growled, putting a hand over Jaskier’s, their arms still entwined.

It certainly _wasn’t_ normal, but Geralt was at a loss over what to do about it.

However, being at a loss over what to do about anything had never stopped _Jaskier_ in the past, and it wasn’t stopping him now. Jaskier, somewhat reluctantly, disentangled himself from Geralt’s arm, and walked over to a pregnant woman.

The count now stands at 18 pregnant women in Rinde.

“Excuse me, miss? I couldn’t help but notice that there seem to be quite a few ladies expecting precious deliveries here in Rinde, and I wondered if everything was all right?”

“Oh, certainly, sir! We’ve all been blessed, that’s all!”

“Blessed by whom?” Geralt asked, startling the poor girl. She looked up at him, eyes wide with – fear? until Jaskier once again took Geralt’s arm and patted him. Jaskier’s presence certainly seemed to put her at ease.

“The Goddess Freya, o’course! She was ‘ere, oh, about Saovine, I’d wager. She laid a blessing on our whole town!”

And Geralt, bless him, looks at Jaskier just as Jaskier says “Oh, now that makes sense,” in such an airy way that lends Geralt to believe that Jaskier _knows her._

“How many is this now, four?” Geralt huffed, frustrated. _Why_ was his bard so…popular?

“Hmm?” Jaskier asks, only half paying attention. “Freya was… _fun_.” The gusto Jaskier put behind that last word made shivers run up and down Geralt’s spine.

“Ugghh.” Geralt groaned, rolling his eyes.

Fucking GODS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four! Many thanks to WordSmith Husband (he's not actually on AO3, I just like to give credit where credit is due) for the inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> As always, comments and SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER CHAPTERS are always appreciated!
> 
> Hey, uh - be kind and stay safe, for reals, y'all, all right? I live in the US and uh, 2021 IS NOT FUCKING AROUND.


	5. The Murder Strut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer's in town! She drops by for a visit with our favourite boys! In the middle of the night!
> 
> Then they're all out of town!
> 
> Then...Morrigan happens.

They’d received a visit from Yennefer, while staying at the inn in Rinde.

They received a visit from Yennefer, in their inn _room_ , in the _middle of the goddamn night_.

Scared the shit out of both of them, it did. Geralt, as always, slept closest to the door; Jaskier tucked in safely beside him. ( _Of course_ they shared a bed. How much money do you think they have? One room, one bed always suited them fine, thank you very much.) One second they were sleeping, Geralt the big spoon to Jaskier’s little spoon – purely platonically, of course – the next, the sound of time and space ripping open filled the room and Geralt jolted up as if he’d been shot by an arrow. Jaskier, slower to wake, rubbed his eyes like a child (Geralt thought that was one of the most adorable things he’d seen Jaskier do) then shrieked to high heaven at the sight of the sorceress, jumping back slightly on the bed, shrinking away from her.

Yennefer was standing, staring at the two of them, in the middle of their room.

“I could-“ she peered closer in the dark “Am I interrupting something?”

“A night’s rest,” Geralt commented, dryly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, and found himself trying to shield Jaskier from Yennefer. That was curious. He’d never done _that_ before. He’d always been content to watch her verbally gut him, during their previous interactions. He didn’t think it would be quite as amusing now. In fact, Geralt didn’t think it would be amusing _at all_. “What do you want?” he asked, curtly.

“Oi, _rude_!” He heard Jaskier before he felt him – a slight slap, to the back of his arm. Jaskier had _slapped_ him (albeit not hard, at all).

Geralt watched Yennefer’s eyebrows raise at the scene before her, and saw a smile quirk up at the corner of her lip to Jaskier’s response. He heaved a sigh.

“Yen, why are you here?” He turned his head back, to look at Jaskier for confirmation that that was, indeed, a more polite way of asking what she wanted. Jaskier nodded.

Yennefer heaved a sigh of her own, leaning back against the dresser across from the bed.

“I could use your help.”

Geralt just waited, eyebrows raised in question, for additional information. He waited some few minutes, until Yennefer decided to speak.

“There is an old ruin south of Ard Carraigh that’s infested with nightwraiths. I..” she paused. “I could use your help clearing them out.” The simple act of asking had seemed to knock the wind right out of her sails. Her shoulders slumped, and she frowned.

Nightwraiths were generally more of a pain in the ass than anything else; they could be tricky, but with his and Yennefer’s powers combined, it shouldn’t be a problem. Geralt looked back at Jaskier, his face a question of ‘You in?’. Jaskier nodded.

“Ok,” Geralt shrugged. He stood up, and began dressing and donning his armor. Jaskier did the same, minus the armor.

Yennefer stood, watching them with interest. Geralt caught her eye, and raised an eyebrow in question. Yen shook her head in a ‘not right now’ kind of way.

Once everyone was ready to go, Yennifer opened a portal, and away they went.

*****

Geralt forgot just how much he hated using portals. Every fucking time. They just felt so…unnatural (They were unnatural, funny that). They ended up a little ways from the ruin. Everything was dark, and there weren’t any animal sounds. It was eerily silent.

Speaking of eerily silent, Geralt turned to his bard behind him, as Jaskier hadn’t said one word since calling him rude at the inn. Geralt’s brow furrowed as he peered at his bard. Jaskier wasn’t paying Geralt one iota of attention, instead he was looking at the scenery around them, although Geralt found it hard to believe Jaskier could even _see_ anything, considering he had human eyes. Geralt noticed Jaskier’s fingers moving – chord progressions. He was composing. Ah. Jaskier’s silence began to make more sense.

“Well? Shall I engrave you an invitation? These wraiths won’t kill themselves, Geralt,” Yennefer snapped. Geralt sighed, heavily, and pulled out his silver sword. They started walking forward, and Geralt turned to Jaskier behind him.

“Stay. Here. It’s too dangerous for you inside.” Geralt tried giving him _a look_ but Jaskier wasn’t even _looking_ at him, he was still far away, in composer-land.

“Hmm? Oh, well, all right, if you’re going to pout about it, fine. I’ll stay put.” Jaskier said, sighing, as if standing here, in the dark, in front of a wraith infested castle were the most mundane thing in the world.

“Thank you,” Geralt snapped, brow furrowing. Why was he so _infuriating_? All Geralt wanted was for his bard to _remain safe_. Was that so much to ask? He huffed out a breath and jogged to catch up with Yennifer.

“ _What_ is going on with you two?” Yen asked, as they walked inside.

Geralt hummed a question.

“Don’t give me that. Something’s up. Are you two together?”

“What? No.” Geralt answered, quickly. Too quickly. He watched her eyes narrow.

“You have _feelings_ for him!” Yennifer crowed, gleefully.

“Now is hardly the time.” Geralt growled.

He wasn’t wrong. They were walking down a tumbledown stone corridor, and a group of nightwraiths were gathered at the L junction at the end. Geralt laid Yrden on the floor below them, trapping them and was able to dispatch them all rather easily. They rounded the corner and found more of the same waiting ahead.

“He’s immortal.” Geralt said, quietly.

“Who is.”

“Jaskier.”

“Jaskier? The _human_?” He watched Yen give him a hard look out of the corner of her eye. “That’s…not possible.”

“It…is.”

“Have you tried to kill him? How do you know for sure?”

“What? NO! No I haven’t tried to kill him! I-“ Geralt stopped himself before saying something unfortunate to Yennefer. “I haven’t tried to kill him.”

“Then how can you know for _sure_?”

“He’s older than I am.”

“He _isn’t_. He can’t be, what, more than 30? Maybe? He does have really good skin, maybe 30 is even too high. How long have you known him?”

“Twenty years.”

“Twenty- _years_! So, he obviously wasn’t ten years old when you met, which means, he could be as old as 40? But that doesn’t seem right, either.”

“Yen. He hasn’t aged a _day_ since I met him.”

“What’s his skincare routine like? Is he an obsessive face washer?”

“What? No, not that I’m aware of. I mean, we’re together all the time.”

“I noticed.” Geralt noticed _tone_ , there. Tone was being applied to that sentence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means sharing a bed.”

“We’ve always done that.”

“You expect me to believe that for the past twenty years you’ve shared a bed and you’re _not_ together?” Yen was almost doubled over in laughter.

“Because that’s the truth.”

“Geralt, I know you’re generally oblivious about other people’s feelings, but even _you_ had to have noticed –“

“Noticed _what_?”

“You’re _serious_. You haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t know what it is that I’m supposed to have noticed, Yen,” Geralt growled.

“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” Yen said, using her Chaos to hold a large group of nightwraiths in place, while Geralt dealt with them with his sword. They’d reached the end of the second corridor, and began walking down the third, when the third corridor branched up, into a great hall.

A great hall positively filled to capacity with nightwraiths.

“Melitele’s fucking tits,” Geralt groaned. He scraped a hand down his face. This was…not good. Decidedly un-good. He honestly wasn’t sure if he and Yen would be able to tackle this all on their own when he suddenly heard the voice of one human, vulnerable, no-magic-powers-of-any-kind, bard. His bard. Heading in their direction.

Yennefer stared at him, openmouthed.

And Geralt knew he couldn’t call out, or it would draw the wraiths’ attention. And he most certainly didn’t want _that_. What was Jaskier _thinking_? He’d told him to _stay put_. Why couldn’t Jaskier just _listen_ for once?

Funny he should mention listening – Geralt was doing just that, and realized that there wasn’t just one voice – there were _two_. Jaskier was _talking_ to someone.

Yennefer stared at Geralt harder.

“I am hurrying, love, my goodness – yes, this turn, I understand – oh! There they are!” Jaskier called to them as he turned the corner. He was followed by a tall, lithe, raven-haired beauty, the likes of which Geralt had never seen. Her beauty was…ethereal. Her hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders and back, almost to the floor. She walked like she was the very apex of the natural order of things; like she was afraid of nothing and no one.

And she was naked.

Jaskier was being followed by a beautiful, powerful naked woman, in a crumbling stone castle.

“Jaskier – what the fuck are you doing here? I told you to wait outside!” Geralt hissed.

Yennefer continued to stare, but now her gaze was solidly flicking between Jaskier and the woman.

“Geralt. Geralt. That’s-“ Yennefer said, sounding dazed.

“Oh, Morrigan, this is Geralt and Yennefer, Geralt and Yennefer, this is Morrigan.” Morrigan seemed unimpressed with the two others before her, and stood silently behind Jaskier.

Geralt’s face twisted up in concentration, trying to remember. He looked at Yen, who was staring openmouthed at the new woman.

“Geralt, she is THE Goddess of Magic.” Yennefer said, tugging on the elbow of his sleeve.

“ _That’s_ right,”

“And war.”

“Uh, oh,” Geralt suddenly felt much less sure about this whole endeavour.

“And PHANTOMS, oh, bless you, you sweet, stupid bard.” Yennefer said, making a move to go hug Jaskier, but one look – just one look – from Morrigan stopped her cold.

Morrigan made a shooing motion with her hand toward Yennefer, to sweep her out of the way, and strode toward the great hall. Jaskier came to lean on the corner leading into the great hall, casual as you please, just watching. Geralt was astonished.

Morrigan walked two steps in, clapped her hands twice, and every nightwraith disappeared. Instantly. She turned back around and came to stand in front of Jaskier, taking his face in her hands.

“I’ve missed you, Jaskier. It’s been…quite a while.” Her voice was both soft and all sharp edges. She flicked her eyes up to Geralt, then smiled, knowingly. “But I understand.”

Morrigan looked directly at Yennefer. “My child, while you have great talent, and admirable focus and determination, it would be wise for you to remember _this one_ ,” she said, reaching out toward Jaskier, “Goes with _my_ blessing. I think this world would continue to survive if it were one sorceress short.” Morrigan regarded Yennefer with a smile that could only be described as vicious.

Morrigan turned back to Jaskier and took his hand, leading him back out of the castle. They walked ahead of Geralt and Yennefer, although Geralt was still able to hear most of their conversation.

“You picked well,” Morrigan told Jaskier, looking behind her at Geralt.

“I like to think so,” Jaskier said, and Geralt could hear the smile in his voice.

“Geralt.” Yennefer hissed. “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED.”

Geralt sighed. “So, Jaskier’s immortal. And I think it’s because he’s fucked a bunch of gods.”

“He-what?”

“I know how it sounds. By my count, so far, there have been five.”

“Five GODS.”

“Yes.”

“Morrigan being one.”

“Yes.”

“How _old_ is he?”

“At least two hundred years old. At least.”

“Fucking _what_?” Yennefer threw up her hands. “Is he _that_ good in bed?”

“How would _I_ know? I haven’t fucked him yet!” Geralt exclaimed, exasperated. “This is his second War God, though.”

“No. No. No. Jaskier? No. What? No. That’s – how- why – Jaskier!”

“Exactly.”

“Well, now _I_ want to fuck him.” The flippancy with which she said it made Geralt want to hiss at her, like a cat whose hackles were up.

“He’s _my_ bard, Yen,” Geralt growled. Yen shot him an amused look.

Fucking witches. Every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, wasn't that exciting! Nice to see Yennefer drop by! Perhaps later on there might be more special guest stars! Guess you'll have to wait and see!
> 
> If any of you want to know exactly what kind of walk Morrigan was doing, google "Charlize Theron Murder Strut".
> 
> As far as I'm aware, there is no in-universe description of Morrigan, so I just went with the two Morrigans I love and kind of combined them. (Dragon Age and Merlin, if you're wondering.)
> 
> Thank you for reading my silly diversion from 2021 in the United States.
> 
> As always, comments are always appreciated! I love comments! Kudos, too!
> 
> And again, STAY SAFE and be kind!


	6. Witcher Retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt almost gets devoured, then asks Jaskier to devour him.
> 
> Brevity, people. Thems the breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks to [Blaire_Seton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaire_Seton/pseuds/Blaire_Seton) for letting me borrow the ever-lovely Gina the Sorceress! (She will physically show up in a later chapter, she deserves much more than just a passing mention.)
> 
> If you haven't, you should go check out Blaire's stuff on AO3 - The Spring of Burning Forests is AH-MAY-ZING.

It wasn’t often that Geralt found himself at the mercy of his bard for…anything, really. Other than his near-constant chatter, but even that. Even that. In the twenty years they’d been together, the near constant chatter became a…near constant back-and-forth. Good natured bickering. Something Geralt actually _looked forward_ to. Gods, when had _that_ happened?

But Geralt was at Jaskier’s mercy now. 

Geralt had taken a job in Ban Glean, to clear out a devourer. One. One devourer. One. Singular. Geralt, knowing humans as he did, expected two. Maybe three. Not five. Five. F I V E. Devourers. FIVE.

Now, well, devourers are a tricky bunch, those fuckers. Wait too long, and they’ll explode on you, you don’t time your attacks right. Had there been but one, this would have not been a problem. Had there been two, still not much of a problem. Geralt’s surely seen worse. Three might’ve been pushing it.

Five _certainly_ was.

Devourers, as their name implies, are…hungry. They enjoy devouring. Anything, really. Their menu that particular night happened to be one tall, strapping, grumpy, glad-he-left-his-bard-at-the-tavern-but-pissed-he-wasn’t-currently-pissed-WITH-his-bard-at-said-tavern, Geralt of Rivia, full-time Witcher, full-time Jaskier-the-Bard admirer. (That last was a rather recent development, to the current year.)

And these devourers were DETERMINED to eat their fill. Geralt was unhelpful to them in their endeavour, managing to keep most of his flesh intact on his body.

Most of it.

Which is where the mercy of the aforementioned Jaskier the bard comes in.

Geralt was able to find, mount and return to the tavern on Roach without dying (very helpful of him, really, mostly due to Roach). The stablehand at the tavern was smart enough to inform Mr. Jaskier (that’s what he called him, isn’t it just the cutest?) that his only-somewhat-dead erstwhile companion had returned from his monster-slaying, and could he come help remove him from the particularly nippy horse?

Jaskier was only too happy to oblige. Keeping his Witcher alive was a top priority of our favorite bard. After pulling Geralt physically from the saddle – almost being crushed as he did so – Jaskier and the stablehand managed to maneuver Geralt up the stairs of the inn, to their room, depositing him without ceremony into their shared bed. Jaskier profusely apologized to the poor boy, pressing coins into his hands to cover the cost of new clothing, seeing as Geralt had bled all over them.

All over them both, but by now, Jaskier was used to it.

Once the stablehand departed back to the stable with instructions to pamper poor Roach (which he was only too happy to do, once Jaskier assured him Roach was grumpy because her stupid Witcher got hurt), Jaskier set about getting one of Geralt’s magic health potions in him, to staunch any immediate loss of life.

Once that task had been successfully accomplished, Jaskier started the arduous process of removing Geralt’s armor and the clothing underneath. (Armor that would most likely need to be replaced, judging by the lingerie it now resembled. Jaskier was pleased by that mental image for quite some time, he wouldn’t deny it.) The clothing, too, was a lost cause. It all went in a bloody heap on the floor.

Jaskier called for a bath to be brought up (thoughtfully covering his rather…bare Witcher prior to anyone else seeing him in such a state of undress) so he could properly assess the damage. He wasn’t quite strong enough to get Geralt into the tub, nor would he have wanted to and contented himself instead with giving Geralt something of a sponge bath.

Once Jaskier had cleaned away _most_ of the blood and was satisfied he was able to properly view all wounds, he realized it could have been better, but could have been worse. Geralt wasn’t _dead_. That really would have put a dent in further lingerie fantasies. Geralt was laid bare before him, but again, Jaskier was used to it. He’d become quite the combat medic in his years with his Witcher.

Jaskier noticed Geralt stirring below his ministrations, and was honestly surprised to see his friend lucid.

“Like what you see?” Geralt asked, and to Jaskier’s trained ear (because it was trained, mind you, at Oxenfurt) he sounded _drunk_. And…flirty? Jaskier wasn’t aware Geralt understood _how_ to flirt, so this came as quite a surprise.

“Well, I _like_ that you’re not dead,” Jaskier replied, wryly. But this was too good an opportunity to waste. “Why, is there something you’d _like_ me to like?”

“I have a few spots in mind,” Geralt said, voice husky.

“ _Do_ you now,” Jaskier smiled, pulling a jar from his pack, and beginning to rub the salve on Geralt’s open wounds. “Tell me more, and be as specific as you’d like.”

Jaskier was speechless when Geralt took one of his hands and brought it up to Geralt’s lips.

“Here.” Geralt said, so, so softly.

“Where else?” Jaskier asked, voice hoarse.

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and moved it down to rest on a jutting hipbone.

“It hurts…here. I think I need you to pay more attention there.”

“Oh, I intend to take very good care of you, my darling Witcher.”

“I need a gentle touch, but a firm hand.”

“Fuuuck, Geralt. You’ll be the death of me, you bastard. Will you remember any of this tomorrow?”

“Chances are slim.”

“You monster.”

“You love it.”

Jaskier hummed. “Is that so.” He drawled as he continued to apply the salve.

“Yes. You do.” Geralt propped himself up on his elbows, so he could better observe his bard.

“Look at you, you brazen thing,” Jaskier felt Geralt’s amber eyes following his hands as they moved over his wounds, which were rapidly closing. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked, with a playful grin.

“Well, I know _you_ haven’t.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “And, just for the sake of clarity, Geralt – that is something you _want_?”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“Will you remember _that_ tomorrow?”

“I’ve been able to think about little else for _months_.” Geralt paused, looking thoughtful in his potion-induced buzz “But what do _you_ want?”

“I want to make sure my Witcher is taken care of.”

“Well, then, Bard, come _take care_ of me.” Geralt growled, pulling Jaskier to him by his tunic, keeping him mere breaths away from his own face.

Geralt growled again when Jaskier smiled, coyly, and slowly pulled out of his grip.

“Darling Witcher, what kind of lover would I be if I let you kiss me for the first time knowing you wouldn’t remember it?”

“You would be _a lover_. Why are you so _vexing_?” Geralt groaned, throwing himself back on the bed.

“You love it,” Jaskier threw back at him, smiling slyly. Jaskier was pleased to hear an answering growl of affirmation.

Jaskier was eventually able to wrestle and cajole Geralt into finally laying down, although Geralt wouldn’t quiet until Jaskier agreed to cuddle him. So they fell asleep, one naked Witcher wound around one bewildered Bard.

Geralt had never slept so well.

*****

The next morning had Geralt waking up feeling more refreshed than he had been since…ever. From before the Trials, surely. He evaluated the current state of affairs, and was perplexed to find himself wrapped around Jaskier, who was still asleep. 

Thankfully Jaskier was still asleep because while evaluating, he realized he was naked. He was naked, currently holding onto his bard for dear life. To his credit, Jaskier didn’t seem fazed by this turn of events; one arm was under Geralt, and one hand lay on the hip that was draped across Jaskier’s stomach. Jaskier was dressed, and Geralt wasn’t sure if he felt more relieved or disappointed. (Disappointed)

Jaskier had seen him naked before, of course. Twenty years of traveling together leaves little to the imagination. This was just a bit more…intimate than Geralt was used to. Not that he was complaining. Well, not much. He just was unsure of the circumstances for his nudity, and Jaskier’s fully clothed self.

Geralt tried to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered the devourers (hard to forget _those_ fuckers, really), remembered staggering to Roach, and had dim memories of getting back to the inn. From there, he vaguely remembered Jaskier getting him upstairs and maybe a sponge bath? A sponge bath. _A_ _sponge bath_. He looked across the room and saw the empty potion bottle, and things started making more sense. Potions were tricky at the best of times, and especially tricky the closer one is to death.

Geralt gently extricated himself from the arms of his bard (reluctantly) and stood up, surveying the damage. Or, the lack of damage. Geralt was _certain_ he’d been gravely wounded last night, but other than pink, healing skin, there was no evidence of any trauma. His potion wouldn’t have worked that fast. He wasn’t aware of _anything_ that worked that fast, save magic. Geralt was positive Jaskier wouldn’t have called Yennefer _even if_ his life depended on it; there was no love lost between the two, their recent castle escapades proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

That left…one of Jaskier’s godly paramours. Just the thought made him growl.

Geralt turned when he heard sleepy bard noises coming from behind him.

“Geralt! You’re looking…well,” Jaskier managed to say mildly, without betraying his actual thought process which was ‘you look DAMN FINE’. (Geralt’s ass had always been one of his favorite things upon which to gaze.)

“Who was it.” Geralt spat out, not bothering to dress in his flash of irrational anger.

“Who was what?”

“Which one of your – _gods_ did you have to fuck to fix me?”

“Darling – what are you _talking_ about? No one fucked anyone last night. Absolutely no one. At all. There was no fucking. Of any sort. Here in this room. This room devoid of fucking.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, because Jaskier was speaking the way he did when he was trying to _hide_ something. He sniffed to scent the room. But there was no lingering smell of sex. None, whatsoever. Jaskier smelled like…Geralt. And not in a sexy way.

“You’re hiding something. What are you hiding? I was two steps away from Witcher retirement last night. _What did you do_?”

Jaskier gracefully slid off the bed, putting his hands on Geralt’s hips as he moved passed him to get to the dresser opposite the bed. Jaskier picked up a jar, and handed it to Geralt.

“That’s what I did.” Jaskier watched as Geralt opened it, and sniffed it. Geralt tilted his head to the side in concentration, trying to identify the different scents.

“What’s this?”

“A healing salve.”

“…where’d you get it?”

“A sorceress named Gina; she has a shop outside of Oxenfurt. I picked it up the last time we were there.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. He remembered the last time they were in Oxenfurt, it was only a few weeks ago they’d been there. Jaskier had said he wanted to stop by a friend’s to pick up some supplies, and Geralt had gone in a different direction. They hadn’t been apart long; maybe a half hour at most. Geralt…didn’t know what to do with this information. He felt like Jaskier was still hiding something from him, but he didn’t know what it was.

“There’s still something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“You giving me my health potion.”

“Nothing after that.”

“No. Why, what _happened_ after that?”

“You…were not yourself, last night, that’s all.”

“What do you mean, ‘not myself’?”

Geralt saw Jaskier’s mind working, trying to decide what to tell him.

“Melitele’s tits, Jask! What _happened_?”

“You were horny.”

Geralt legitimately thought he might pass out. “I was-“

“Has that never happened to you before, with a potion?”

“Never.”

“Huh.” Jaskier said, thoughtfully.

Geralt was speechless. He wanted to _know_. He _desperately_ wanted to know. Had anything happened? Jaskier was still dressed, so that left out…a lot of options. What had he _said_?

_What had he said_? SHIT. Shit. Fuck.

“Did- did I say anything…unfortunate?”

He saw Jaskier smile, coyly. “You were a bit more flirty than I’ve ever seen you, but nothing ghastly, I promise.”

Somehow Geralt was not reassured. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever flirted in his life. He was not reassured.

“So it wasn’t one of your innumerable immortal lovers this time? You’re certain.”

“Positive. Although Aesculapius was the one who pointed me toward Gina, oh, eons ago.”

“Aesculapius?” Geralt asked, eyebrows raised.

“Minor god of medicine. Met him at a dinner party in Cidaris.”

“Were you two…” Geralt gestured with his hand, to indicate ‘together’

“Broom closet. _Very_ scandalous. _Very_ enjoyable. Taught me a few tricks, as it happens. But that’s neither here nor there. How are you _feeling_ , darling? Because you look…very well.”

Geralt had a burning need to know what tricks Jaskier had learned at that dinner party.

Fucking GODS. FUCK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! So, that was exciting! Yeah?
> 
> If you would like a masterlist of my sexy-sexy-fun-times music that I listened to while writing this chapter, I would be happy to oblige. I heard (most) of this on my most favourite radio station, WXPN, out of the University of Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia, PA, USA. www.xpn.org I highly recommend them. You can stream them through TuneIn, or on the website. They also have a Christmas Channel (well, not anymore) on WXPN2, called Jingle Jams that runs usually November/December every year. I think in 2020 they started it in October because...2020. (I do not work for them. I just love them LOTS.)
> 
> Love 3X - ZZ Ward  
> In My Mind - M86 & Susie Q (John Wick Sountrack)  
> Tabasco & Sweet Tea - The Cadillac Three  
> Mirage - Lindsay Stirling (feat. Raja Kumari)  
> Around Your Room - Kississippi  
> Til The Casket Drops - ZZ Ward  
> Little Something - Melody Gardot & Sting  
> Jungle - Tash Sultana  
> Coffee - Sylvan Esso  
> It Doesn't Matter Now - Early James  
> Kill of the Night - Gin Wigmore  
> Ferris Wheel - Sylvan Esso  
> Sex & Stardust - ZZ Ward  
> Cuz I Love You - Lizzo (What the fuck ARE fuckin' feelings, yo?)  
> Move Like U Stole It - ZZ Ward  
> Make Me Feel - Janelle Monae  
> I Want You - Marian Hill  
> I Belong to You - Caro Emerald  
> Baddabing Baddaboom - Earl  
> Strict Machine - Goldfrapp  
> Taste - Lorna Vallings  
> Soul Decision - Faded (I may be dating myself here, but c'mon. IT'S SO FUN.)
> 
> Enjoy, if music's your thing. I really urge you to check out XPN. Most amazing radio station.
> 
> As always, comments are GREATLY appreciated! Thank you for reading and (hopefully) enjoying!
> 
> STAY SAFE and Be Kind!


	7. The Hand You're Dealt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets lucky in Novigrad.
> 
> Trust me.

Geralt wasn’t sure how they’d ended up in this position. It had started normally enough (Geralt wasn’t sure they could even use normal in their common vernacular anymore; their lives were just so…weird) with a trip to Novigrad to stock up on supplies before autumn set in and merchant’s stores ran bare. They’d been here a couple days now, and things were…as calm as they would get for a Witcher and his feral bard. Even the humans in this city were acting…somewhat decently toward him, which was a refreshing change.

And then.

And _then_. Geralt saw Jaskier running up to him – actually running, mind you – with that glint in his eye he got when he had a *monumentally bad feral bard idea*; waving his hands and jumping up and down with excitement. Geralt heard something about ‘bath’ and ‘party’ and then Jaskier had taken him by the hands and dragged him back to the inn before Geralt could even get a word in edgewise.

Geralt was naked in a tub with Jaskier before he even knew what hit him.

Now, as was said in a previous chapter (Chapter 6: Witcher Retirement) Geralt and Jaskier were often naked around one another. Well ‘often’ might be a stretch. But they were no strangers to it, to be sure. And they had been taking baths with one another for over twenty years. But now, Geralt had started feeling…awkward (and a little shy) being in a state of undress around Jaskier. It wasn’t that Geralt felt self-conscious (well, maybe a little) but he was so easily _distracted._ Because if Geralt was naked, that usually meant that Jaskier was touching him; and if it were _Jaskier_ that was nude, all Geralt wanted to do was _stare_.

Like he was doing right now.

“Geralt – Geralt. Are you even listening to me? Hello?” Jaskier said in a sing-song voice, passing his hand in front of the other man’s face.

Geralt quickly shook his head and rejoined Jaskier in the land of the living, grunting in response to Jaskier’s question.

“Honestly – what were you thinking about just then? You had a look on your face I’ve never seen before.”

“What?” Geralt asked, suddenly afraid. “What…kind of face was it?”

“You looked…happy. It was quite shocking.” Jaskier laughed.

In truth, Geralt had been staring at the hard planes of Jaskier’s chest, longing to run his hands down his sides to Jaskier’s waist; watching his long fingers move absently with his arms propped on the side of the tub, wondering how skilled those fingers were for things _other_ than playing the lute; watching his lips move as he spoke. Geralt found he had a deep fascination with Jaskier’s lips – they looked so _soft_. He wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked; and wanted to know what Jaskier tasted like.

“As I was saying. Here, let me wash your hair. Turn around.” Jaskier commanded, and Geralt did as he was bid. He was more than a little surprised when he felt Jaskier’s hands grab him around the waist and pull him back to sit closer to Jaskier’s chest, in between Jaskier’s legs.

This was new, Geralt thought to himself, as Jaskier tipped him back slightly, so Geralt was propped on Jaskier’s chest. Then Geralt stopped thinking as Jaskier started gently massaging his scalp. Geralt’s hair was already wet, and Jaskier was using a little bit of one of his scented oils he loved so much – bergamot, if Geralt wasn’t mistaken (he wasn’t mistaken). It felt heavenly. 

This had always been something Geralt had enjoyed, when Jaskier washed his hair. The first time Jaskier had done it, it was, as Jaskier put it, ‘in defense of Geralt’s hair against Geralt’s harsh treatment’. Jaskier told him he felt physically pained watching Geralt do it himself, because he was so rough. Jaskier told him he used to wash his little sisters’ hair, and he missed it. The first time, Geralt had actually fallen asleep he’d been so relaxed.

He was not _quite_ so relaxed this time. When Jaskier touched him now, it felt like sparks flew wherever his fingers went.

“Does this feel good, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, voice slightly husky.

“Mmmhhmmm.” Geralt replied, not trusting his voice.

“Do you like it when I touch you?” Jaskier asked, fingers massaging soap through his hair.

“Mmmmhhmmmmm.” Geralt hummed in the affirmative.

“That’s good,” Jaskier replied, smiling a coy little smile. “So you’ll go with me tonight, then?”

“Mmmmhhhmmmm.” Geralt again hummed his affirmation.

“That’s good,” Jaskier repeated, his smile getting bigger. “Scoot up and lean back, to rinse.”

Geralt did as asked, Jaskier helping to get the top of his head. Jaskier pulled him back again, to put more oil in, so his hair wouldn’t dry out. (Geralt didn’t understand it, but had to admit it did look better when Jaskier did it.) Geralt was scooched closer inside the apex of Jaskier’s legs now, and as Jaskier used his magic fingers on Geralt’s scalp, Geralt was able to feel Jaskier’s hardened erection pressing into his back. Geralt pressed back a touch more, and felt shivers run down his spine when he heard Jaskier suck in a breath. Geralt let out a contented hum.

Jaskier leaned over the side of the tub to pick up the soap from the floor, and started washing Geralt (the places he could reach, anyway). He started with Geralt’s back, skilled fingers working the muscles, releasing Geralt’s stored tension. He soaped each arm, paying particular attention to Geralt’s fingers, weaving his own fingers through Geralt’s. After his arms, Jaskier moved on to Geralt’s chest, hands sliding down his pectoral muscles, down his abdominals, and lower.

Jaskier was not surprised to discover he was not the only one taking extra delight from this bath – when Jaskier’s hands moved to the insides of Geralt’s thighs, and oh-so-subtly brushed against Geralt’s hardened cock, Geralt was the one whose breath hitched this time.

Jaskier handed the soap to Geralt to finish his legs and he could only reach so much of the Witcher from behind him.

Geralt was literally stunned speechless.

*****

The bath finished, Geralt slowly started to realize that his feral bard was a shameless tease, who had lured Geralt into temptation to lower his guard so Geralt would agree to go with Jaskier to a party.

That little shit. If he weren’t so perturbed, he would actually be proud of his bard’s cunning. That was deftly played.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Geralt said, trying to hide a smirk, and failing miserably.

“Wasn’t it, though?” Jaskier replied, beaming at him. He’d even gotten Geralt a new outfit for the occasion, and though it shocked Geralt to admit it, Jaskier had done a damn fine job. A black tunic, with very subtle silver embroidery around the cuffs and hems, and pair of black pants – simple, comfortable black pants.

Jaskier was definitely trying to butter him up, and it was working.

“So, what kind of party is this?” Geralt asked, expecting the worst. He hated parties. _Hated_ them.

“It’s actually not so much of a party, as it is a Gwent tournament.”

“A what?” Geralt was sure he heard that wrong.

“You heard me. A Gwent tournament.”

“You hate Gwent.”

“It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Geralt shot him a very doubtful look, but knew that Jaskier’s heart was set on this, and nothing would sway him.

The tournament was being held at some lord-or-other’s estate; when asked for their invitation, Jaskier presented a gold-embossed piece of parchment to the doorman.

“Where did you even get that?” Geralt hissed.

“Just luck, I guess,” Jaskier said, happily.

They were escorted into a ballroom that had been set up for the tourney. Small two person tables had been set up throughout; making the room resemble a restaurant for very small parties.

Geralt was no stranger to Gwent, and he liked to think he was pretty good at it.

Jaskier, on the other hand, was not. Jaskier hated Gwent. Hated anything to do with it, going so far as loud sighing if he absolutely had to watch Geralt play. He found it boring. Jaskier…was a doer. Not that Geralt isn’t also a doer, but Geralt is also more comfortable with long stretches of silence and peaceful meditation. ‘Peaceful’ would not be a word Geralt used to describe his darling bard. ‘Chaotic’ or ‘Energetic’ were better fits for his love. Geralt was honestly kind of surprised Yennefer and Jaskier didn’t get on better – they were both superb agents of chaos, but maybe working at opposite ends of the chaotic spectrum. Hmm. He’d have to ponder that more later.

The tournament went as tournaments go, people winning, losers leaving. Geralt made it to the final ten. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to Jaskier, as he’d been lost in the cards.

Jaskier was _still playing_.

What? Jaskier hadn’t been eliminated.

That couldn’t be right. Geralt furrowed his brow in concentration, listening, smelling to see if anything seemed…off. Nothing. His medallion wasn’t reacting, either. So it wasn’t magic. Or, if it was magic, it was super fucking subtle.

Jaskier was in the final eight. Geralt had pulled up a chair behind him, to his right, to watch. Several of the other losing party-goers were also spectating. Geralt’s medallion was still. Everything seemed…legitimate.

Geralt was suspicious. 

Jaskier was in the final four. Geralt could tell that Jaskier wasn’t obviously cheating.

Jaskier made it to the final two.

Geralt was on the edge of his seat. He and Jaskier were going to have a _conversation_ on the way back to the inn that night.

Jaskier _won_. Geralt was dumbfounded. Jaskier jumped up from his seat, ecstatic, and threw his arms around Geralt.

“Jaskier, how did you do it?” Geralt murmured in his ear, genuinely shocked.

“Just lucky I guess,” Jaskier replied, offhandedly.

*****

They were back at the inn, getting ready for bed. Geralt had already changed, and was watching Jaskier take his jewelry off. He noticed Jaskier was wearing a ring he hadn’t seen before.

“Jaskier – is that new? I’ve never seen that one before,” Geralt asked, gazing longingly upon the rear end of his favorite feral bard.

Jaskier turned, holding the ring in his fingers. “This? No, I’ve had this for ages. I just happened to find it in the bottom of my pack the other day; I’d totally forgotten about it.”

Geralt made a face. “What day?”

“Mmm? Oh, about three? days ago?” Jaskier said, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Well, now they didn’t. Jaskier had managed to win a very tidy sum of money from the tournament. 

Geralt’s narrowed his eyes. They’d entered Novigrad three days ago. That’s when he’d started noticing people treating them differently. People treating them _better_.

“Jask, where’d you get that ring?”

“Oh, this? Gods. HA! It actually was a god. Well, goddess. Nehaleni.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, no, it’s the truth.”

“Let me guess. She’s the goddess of luck, isn’t she?”

“That she is, darling. Met her about, oh, fifty years ago? I think? Gave me this ring to remember her by, wasn’t that sweet?”

Geralt just stared at him. Jaskier was up to seven gods now. SEVEN. 

“Jaskier, you are _never_ allowed to take that ring off, do you understand me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7! Fun times! Now our boys are set for a WHILE.
> 
> So! Are we wondering where they'll go from Novigrad? How many gods might be left? HOW MANY GODS MIGHT BE LEFT, I WONDER?
> 
> I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy.
> 
> STAY SAFE and be kind!


	8. Table For Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite duo receive an invitation to a party.
> 
> A party that includes...table service.

The next morning, Geralt woke first. Nothing about this was unusual in any way. Geralt always rose first; a habit that been instilled in him during his Witcher training at Kaer Morhen. He was on his back, and Jaskier was on his stomach, hands flung out so one was draped across Geralt’s chest.

Geralt could think of worse ways to wake up; much worse ways. He was thinking to himself he could get used to waking up this way when the sound of paper sliding under the door snapped his attention to the other side of the room.

Geralt slid gently out from underneath Jaskier’s embrace and padded softly over to the door and the envelope that was laying on the ground. Having been burned before (literally) he knelt down to see if his medallion reacted to it. It did not. He picked up the envelope, smelling a faint hint of spice (cinnamon and…nutmeg?). He turned the envelope over, and saw it was addressed to ‘The Distinguished Witcher and Illustrious Bard’.

Geralt frowned, humming.

“What’s that, love?” Jaskier asked, sleep catching his voice. Geralt turned, a smile making a corner of his lips twitch. Jaskier had turned over, and was sitting up. Geralt tossed it to him on the bed.

“Dunno. Didn’t open it.” Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, and watched Jaskier frown in concentration at the front of the envelope. “What?” Geralt asked, looking at his bard’s frown.

“I know this handwriting.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shot up. “Should I be concerned?” he asked with a smirk. Jaskier’s eyes looked up quickly to meet Geralt’s eyes, and Jaskier smiled.

“What? Oh, no. This is Freya’s handwriting.”

“The Goddess of Fertility?”

“She’s also the Goddess of Beauty.”

“Of course she is.” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Well then, what’s it say?”

“We are invited to a party. Here in Novigrad. Tonight.”

“We. Received an invitation. To a party. Hosted by a Goddess.”

“We did indeed, my darling Witcher.” Jaskier smiled. Geralt sighed. It was his ‘You can’t say no to this’ smile. Fuck.

“We’re going, aren’t we.” It was a statement. Geralt knew there was no question here.

“Of course we are! Who knows! Maybe tonight _you’ll_ get to fuck a goddess!”

“I-I-“ Geralt stammered. There was no possibility of reasonable response there.

Silence had always served him well before, why stop now.

*****

That night found them freshly bathed and dressed (Jaskier’s doing again, however Jaskier – possibly because of the ring – was on a _roll,_ and had gotten Geralt a very, very dark blue pair of velvet pants and a matching loose silk shirt. Jaskier himself was looking resplendent as always in jewel toned wool and silk.) presenting their invitation to the doorman.

They were ushered into a lavish foyer (pronounced foi-AY, because it’s FANCY) where their cloaks were taken, then they were escorted into a posh drawing room, with other guests.

It was when Geralt started looking around at the other guests he began to feel something was…off.

Everyone he saw was beautiful. Gorgeous. Mouthwateringly good-looking. Geralt immediately felt out of place; Witchers were never beautiful, they were _useful_. They were tools; sharp, furious tools. Tools that were reviled, and mocked, and shunned. Tools humans were _afraid_ of now, afraid of how they’d been made – how humans had _made_ them.

Geralt often struggled with feelings of undesirability; no matter how many times Jaskier praised him, or called him good, or kind hearted – no matter how many times Jaskier repeated it, that little knot inside Geralt would never go away. It had shrunken, certainly. Jaskier was nothing if not persistent. Over the years Geralt had gotten more used to the compliments and praise that was showered over him like cherry blossom petals, but they still sounded foreign, even now.

He looked over at Jaskier, who did not seem to be quite so impressed with everyone else in the room. Jaskier looked – brighter. He stood out more than anyone else in the room, to Geralt. It was as if Jaskier were a lighthouse among a group of candles. Geralt was about to ask Jaskier if he’d noticed the same thing when a voice sounded behind him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, if you’ll please come this way,” A butler started leading the other party goers from the drawing room through the foyer (foi-AY) to a ballroom through double doors between the twin staircases flanking the sides of the room.

Geralt and Jaskier follow as instructed, Jaskier looping his arm through Geralt’s. The ballroom had been furnished with various chaise lounges, cushions and soft looking rugs, as well as a fountain in the center of the room, running with what looked like…wine, judging by the smell. _That_ was new. There were also tables scattered around in unobtrusive locations with bowls of what smelled like whipped cream and sliced strawberries.

“ _Wine_ ,” Jaskier moaned. Geralt’s heart almost stopped hearing him make that noise. “We need wine.” And so he set off to get some. Jaskier came back with two goblets, handing one to his Witcher.

Geralt took a sip and his eyes widened. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He drained it in seconds. Jaskier looked at him, concern evident in his eyes.

“Easy there, Geralt – I have a feeling that might be more potent than what you’re used to drinking at taverns.” There was caution in his tone, but he took the empty glass from Geralt and went to get his somewhat-more-than-friend a refill. When he brought it back, he made Geralt promise to sip this one, not down it like a shot.

Geralt was on his third glass, and he and Jaskier had retired to a chaise off to the side, when they were approached by a couple. The woman was buxom, and blonde; her dress (or what was left of it) had been unlaced down the front, revealing an emerald satin corset underneath, showcasing her magnificent decolletage. The man was tall, with dark hair and the build of a fighter.

The man spoke first “We just came from the dining room, but you’re the tastiest looking morsel here.”

Geralt almost spit out his mouthful of wine when he realized the man was speaking to _him_.

Jaskier noticed Geralt’s distress and immediately jumped to his aid.

“Oh, my dears – please excuse my darling Witcher; he only has me for company on the road, and I assure you I can be a right brat at the best of times. He’s more the strong, silent type.”

“We can work with that,” the woman replied, smoothly. “Oh, where are our manners! I’m Annabelle, and this is Franz.”

Geralt coughed, clearing his throat. Jaskier took that opportunity to introduce them.

“I am Jaskier, and this is Geralt, of Rivia. Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Geralt – have you been here before? We’d be delighted to show you around,” Annabelle said, winking at him.

Jaskier was having the _time of his life_ watching this interaction.

Geralt was not. Although, he could admit to a certain appreciation for the couple standing in front of him. Physical appreciation. In fact, that appreciation bloomed into desire which then grew into lust as the seconds wore on.

“Lead on,” Geralt said, standing up. He enjoyed seeing Jaskier’s mouth hang open, a small part of him wondering exactly _how much_ Jaskier could fit into his mouth.

He let himself be led away by his new friends.

*****

Jaskier knew there was _something_ going on, he just didn’t know what. When they’d first arrived, Geralt had looked around the drawing room and he seemed awestruck by the people upon whom his gaze fell. But to Jaskier, they just looked…ordinary. 

And then his Witcher had looked at _him_. Geralt had looked at him like he was the first bloom of spring following a cold, hard winter. That look had taken Jaskier’s breath away.

Jaskier was quite certain Freya had a hand in _some_ of this, but not _all_ of it. The wine, for example. Geralt was acting as if he were drunk, and he’d only had four glasses. Human wine didn’t affect Witchers that way, in such a small quantity. Freya wouldn’t have ‘improved’ the wine. That wasn’t her specific area of expertise. Something – or someone – else was at work here.

Seeing Geralt interact with Annabelle and Franz had been entertaining, though. Although, come to think of it, they _had_ been gone for quite a while, and if the wine _had_ been augmented, Geralt wouldn’t exactly be in control of all his faculties.

Jaskier needed to go save his Witcher from the clutches of lust.

It took him a good twenty minutes to finally find them – they’d sequestered themselves in a corner of an upstairs balcony.

Jaskier took several long (loooonnnng) minutes to appreciate the scene in front of him, committing this masterpiece to memory before he had to go and ruin it.

Geralt was currently laying on a table, face up, legs hanging off. His chest was bare, his shirt having been thrown on a chaise nearby. Jaskier supposed his chest couldn’t _technically_ be considered bare, as it was covered in whipped cream and strawberries, which were being enthusiastically licked off by Annabelle. Annabelle was just down to the corset and smallclothes now, her dress having been discarded on the floor.

Geralt’s pants were undone, his front laces dangling. What was not dangling, by any stretch of the imagination, was Geralt’s cock; standing proudly, somewhat painfully looking, erect. He was currently being aggressively deep-throated by Franz, who seemed unbothered by the whipped cream and strawberries he was displacing with his body over Geralt’s. Franz was nude.

Jaskier took a seat on the chaise, and watched Franz’s head bobbing up and down as Geralt’s hips arched upward off the table, Franz’s hand moving in time with his head. Franz’s other hand was currently busy pleasuring himself. 

Jaskier would never forget the sounds Geralt was making – they were music to the bard’s own ears. But, as everyone knows, nothing good can last forever, and eventually the Witcher had his release – eyes shut, mouth open in unadulterated pleasure, a loud moan escaping his lips.

Jaskier took that opportunity to interrupt the sexy-fun times to pull his Witcher to his feet, physically dragging him away from a very perturbed looking Annabelle and Franz.

“So sorry, dears, there’s an urgent Witcher matter to which we must attend.” Jaskier called to the pair as he grabbed Geralt’s shirt from the chaise and threw it at him.

Jaskier heard Geralt making very pouty Witcher noises (which were more of a pouty grunt than anything else, if truth be told) – and Jaskier understood, oh, did he understand, but for now he had to get his Witcher _out of there_ before any further bad choices were made.

“Darling, if this is something you’re into, we can _definitely_ try it out later, but right now we need to GO.” Jaskier swiped a finger through the whipped cream and sucked on it as he dragged the other man down the stairs. “Let’s put the little Witcher away and go get you something to eat.” Jaskier said at the bottom of the stairs, helping Geralt resituate his pants.

*****

Once they were safely back at the inn, Jaskier deposited Geralt straight into the tub, once he got the rest of his clothes off.

“Jask, what the fuck is all over my chest?” Geralt asked, face a mask of confusion.

“That, my darling, is whipped cream, and might I say, you look good enough to eat.”

Geralt’s eyes closed, and he sighed. “…do I even want to know.”

“You had a _very_ good time tonight,” Jaskier said, smirking. Jaskier was sitting on the bed, lute in hand, and started to play.

_The candlelight, the smell of food_

_The body on the table_

_Can he move, can he touch?_

_Touch me if he were able?_

_To taste the food that tastes of him_

_There would be nothing richer,_

_Than to eat the sweetest cream_

_That lay upon my Witcher_

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier!” Geralt yelled, ears turning as red as Witcher mutations allowed.

He wanted to die.

FUCKING GODS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE THANKS to [Laughingatlivedragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughingatlivedragons/pseuds/Laughingatlivedragons) for helping co-write this chapter! YOU ARE BRILLIANT, DARLING! 💕💋
> 
> Also, thanks to WordSmith Husband for coming up with the lyrics, once again 💕😘
> 
> We're getting SO CLOSE (SEE WHAT I DID THERE???) PEOPLE! I think about 4 more chapters to go!
> 
> Many thanks for all the comments! They MAKE MY DAY, folks!
> 
> As always, STAY SAFE and be kind!
> 
> I'm @actionnerdgamerlove on Tumblr, stop by and yell at me if you're so inclined!


	9. Faerie Cred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier stumble upon a Faerie Ring, and find themselves in the company of two Fae with...voracious appetites.
> 
> WHAT KIND OF APPETITES, I hear you ask.
> 
> Read on, and find out.

Geralt had taken a contract in Ban Ard, to investigate a Faerie Ring on the outskirts of town, in the forest bordering the Blue Mountains. Geralt was skeptical – the alderman had said the Faeries were bespelling travelers and townsfolk alike; that wasn’t really something Faeries _did_ without provocation, and from what the alderman said, there wasn’t a good reason for anyone to be _anywhere near_ where the Faerie ring happened to be. The alderman did not elaborate regarding what the Faeries were having the humans do, which made Geralt frown even more than he usually did. Which was a lot. The alderman seemed…extremely disinclined to provide additional details.

Jaskier accompanied him on the hunt this time; instead of having to wait at the inn like Geralt usually preferred. Geralt figured at this point, whatever Divine favors his bard had accumulated would somehow keep him from harm.

Fucking GODS.

Not that he was complaining. Well, not that he was complaining _much_. Jaskier being immortal opened up so many more avenues of…intimacy. Witchers lived a _very_ long time. Or, not long at all, depending on their luck in hunting. Geralt was over 100 years old. Prior to the discovery of Jaskier’s unique…gift, Geralt had often lost sleep over thinking about Jaskier’s eventual inevitable decline. Lost a lot of sleep, actually. Knowing now that Geralt would most certainly precede him into the afterlife wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, but thinking that Geralt would someday have to walk The Path without his bard was almost too much for Geralt to bear.

But now, he didn’t have to bear that thought at all.

Geralt pulled himself from his reverie to hear Jaskier singing a song Geralt hadn’t yet heard.

_Of a Faerie Ring_

_Does one hear tell_

_Bespelling travelers_

_In the dell_

_Are they driven mad?_

_Accursed luck?_

_Or, knowing faeries,_

_Compelled to fuck?_

Geralt started. Compelled to WHAT? That…was an awfully specific verse.

“Jask-what? Compelled to _what_?” Geralt sputtered.

“Fuck, darling. Or, at least that’s what I think is going on.”

“Why?” Geralt’s eyes narrowed, gritting his teeth for what he was sure would be another peek into Jaskier’s unbelievably robust past sexual history.

“I’ve encountered it before.” Jaskier said, lightly.

“Oh?” Geralt asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing mightily.

“Outside of Brugge, there was a Faerie ring which looked particularly appealing, and being young and curious-“

“That hasn’t changed,” Geralt said, smirking.

“Rude! As I was saying, being inquisitive, I got too close-“

“You stepped in it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Stop interrupting. Having disturbed their ring, I was thus bespelled.”

Geralt waited, expecting more. “That’s it? You were bespelled? What _happened_?”

“My darling Witcher, you always seem so… _vexed_ when I give you details of these kinds of things. Are you sure you want to know?”

He didn’t. He really didn’t. But he _did_.

“Yes.” Geralt growled.

“Well, then, my love, strap on your gauntlets, it’s a wild ride.”

Geralt groaned.

*****

“And then I said to him ‘Oh, you’ll be amazed at what fits.’ She, obviously, couldn’t speak as I was fucking her face.”

Geralt just stared at his bard, openmouthed. How. H O W. How did he keep finding himself in these situations? Was Jaskier part _siren_? That…would explain a lot, actually.

“Jask, why don’t you write songs about these…trysts?” Geralt asked, that thought just occurring to him.

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“You have no problem giving a ridiculous amount of detail where _I’m_ concerned,” Geralt said with a pointed look.

“As hard as it is to believe, you are less grumpy than gods are where their privacy is concerned.”

Geralt hummed. They’d reached the Faerie ring. Geralt wasn’t exactly sure how to how to get this feast underway, so to speak.

Jaskier noticed his Witcher looking frownier than normal, and decided to step in.

“Relax, darling – I can take care of this. I’ve got Faerie Cred.”

“Faerie…cred?” Geralt asked, incredulous. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Credibility, love. It’s a saying – look, I have an in.” 

And with that, Jaskier stepped directly into the Faerie ring and clapped his hands.

“King Tunder! Queen Tiana! I humbly request thy presence.” Jaskier knelt, head down, awaiting…something.

Geralt waited with bated breath. Suddenly, without warning, a shimmering type of light appeared inside the Faerie Ring. As if appearing from inside an aurora borealis, a man and woman, approximately the size of a child undergoing a large growth spurt – lanky, languid limbs – standing in front of Jaskier. Both had translucent wings; the man’s were bright, springlike green and the woman’s were blue and purple.

“Dandelion!” The female squealed, face lighting up with a bright smile. Her voice sounded like tinkling bells. She threw herself at him, kissing him like he was the most delicious nectar she’d ever tasted.

Once the female released him, the male took her place, attempting to eat Jaskier from the inside out.

Jaskier hadn’t been kidding about their appetites after all, Geralt thought to himself. He cleared his throat.

The faeries’ heads both snapped to where Geralt was standing – their gazes started out looking murderous, but soon turned…soft, once they realized who he was.

“Dandelion! Is this the Witcher we’ve heard so much about? Everyone’s talking. Has the deed been done? We’ve all placed bets.” The Queen, Tiana said, laugher making her voice tinkle with mirth.

“Bets on what?” Geralt asked, concerned. “What deed?”

“Bets on whether you two have _finally_ fu-“ The Queen started, but was immediately cut off by Jaskier.

“That’s! _That’s_ lovely. We’re actually here to discuss the bespellings, your Majesties.”

“Dandelion – would you like another _royal audience_?” The King purred.

“Would that I could, your Majesty; however, I find myself…otherwise engaged,” Jaskier said, looking back over his shoulder at Geralt. Geralt, for his part, felt his ears flush with embarrassment. “Might I inquire regarding the reason for the recent bespellings?”

“We were bored.” The Queen replied, sighing.

“Bored.” Geralt repeated. Jaskier shot him a look of severe incredulity – clearly indicating Geralt needed to sew his lips shut posthaste. Geralt did as he was bid.

“Your Majesty, the townsfolk are…very concerned. There is actually a reward for the cessation of your…pleasures.”

“ _Is_ there?” The Queen smiled. Geralt thought she sounded very amused.

“What could we offer, in place of…a royal audience?” Jaskier asked, as diplomatically as possible.

The King and Queen pondered. For quite some time.

“Cake.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jaskier asked, not sure he heard correctly.

“Strawberry cake. Humans make it. You…tasted like it, just now. We want some.”

“And if we get you this cake – will you leave the humans alone?”

“Can you get them to deliver the cake here, weekly?”

“…I think we may be able to come to an arrangement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there, folks! Two more chapters after this, and then a BONUS chapter!
> 
> Again, many thanks to WordSmith Husband for lyric crafting.
> 
> As always, comments are SO DEEPLY appreciated! I love seeing all your feedback and reactions!
> 
> I'm @actionnerdgamerlove on Tumblr - stop by and yell at me, if you like!
> 
> Stay Safe and Be Kind!


	10. Generally Human, Armed with Pointy Objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two lovebirds FINALLY...
> 
> WINTER TOGETHER.
> 
> What ELSE did you think it might be, hmm? 
> 
> Our favourite bard meets the rest of the Witchers! Plus some! YAY NEW FRIENDS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY, MANY THANKS to my darling, my partner-in-crime and my writing partner [LaughingAtLiveDragons](https://laughingatlivedragons.tumblr.com) for helping co-author this chapter. Without her help, the second half of the chapter would cease to be. 💖💖😘

He’d done it. He’d _finally_ done it. He finally _finally_ brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He’d thought about it before now, of course – how could he not? As much as he groused about his _‘annoying bard’_ he never meant it. Well, the first couple of years he’d known Jaskier, before his bard had _grown on him_ , the time alone had been…necessary. Those first few years, Geralt hadn’t been used to _companionship_. _Blessed silence_ , he used to think. As the first five years drew on, each winter seemed to get longer and longer. And longer. As those first five years passed, he started looking more and more forward to seeing Jaskier every spring.

Geralt was never really sure why he hadn’t brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen before now. It’s not that he didn’t _want_ him here, that wasn’t it _at all_. He’d spoken about Jaskier so frequently to his brothers and Vesemir, they’d _all_ nagged him to bring his bard home for the winter. Everyone wanted to meet him. Even _Lambert_. Lambert was the prickliest of all the Wolves, but even Lambert wanted to meet this bard that had captivated Geralt enough to talk about him at length – well, ‘at length’ enough for Geralt.

Geralt had finally realized he was afraid Jaskier wouldn’t _want_ to come. Geralt had never noticed the saddened sighs, the looks tinged with regret coming from his bard when they went to part for the winter.

But Jaskier was _finally_ here. Finally, his bard was at Kaer Morhen. At home.

*****

It had come about simply enough. Through their recent travels, Jaskier had noticed a certain _direction_ their path was taking. A northeastern direction. Towards Kaedwen. 

Their last contract, the faeries, had been near Ban Ard - the men’s school of sorcery.

“Darling, is there a reason we’ve been squatting in Kaedwen for so long?” Jaskier asked, one morning as they ate breakfast around a campfire.

Geralt hummed.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that we’ve been ‘making the rounds’ inside a _very_ small area the past few months. Love, I know you always have a reason for everything – care to tell me why?”

Clever bard.

“Kaer Morhen.”

“What about it?”

“Come with me.”

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

Well. _That_ was certainly easier than Geralt had expected.

*****

And then they arrived. Jaskier was, predictably, amazed at the sight of the Wolves’ tumbledown home.

“Oh, love, this is _marvelous_ ,” Jaskier breathed, cornflower blue eyes wide with delight.

“Who goes there?” a deep voice called from above them on the battlements.

“Lambert, it’s me.” Geralt replied, rolling his eyes.

“School’s closed. Come back later.”

“Lambert. Open the fucking gate.”

“We’re full up. No room.”

“Lambert.” Geralt clenched his jaw.

“Didja bring me a present?” his asshole brother called back.

“Hello, Lambert,” Jaskier _purred_. Geralt growled. _That tone_ wasn’t meant for his _brother_.

“What’s this? Do I hear a _bard_? Could that be – _Jaskier_?” Lambert’s voice raised an octave, at least.

“It is indeed.”

“Well, why didn’t you _say_? C’mon in, bard! And welcome!”

Lambert opened the gate just enough for Jaskier to slip through.

And then he slammed it shut again.

Lambert left Geralt outside for another hour, until Eskel took pity on him and opened the gate for he and Roach.

*****

The hours passed swiftly once Geralt was inside the walls. He tended Roach, got his and Jaskier’s things put away – in _his_ room, at Jaskier’s insistence – and helped with chores until it was time for supper.

They had more additions this year than just Jaskier – Aiden, from the School of the Cat and Coen, from the School of the Griffin also joined them this year, friends of Lambert from The Path. Geralt had met both before, they’d been wintering at Kaer Morhen for years by now.

As Geralt predicted, everyone was _delighted_ to meet Jaskier. And Jaskier was just as delighted to be introduced to everyone else. Geralt had given Jaskier a quick lesson on the ‘who’s who’ of Kaer Morhen, to give him a slight edge with introductions. Lambert, the asshole; Eskel, Geralt’s oldest friend, kind and gentle; Vesemir, the oldest of the Wolves, their mentor and foster father; Aiden, Lambert’s partner and lover and Coen, arguably the most laid-back of all the Witchers.

Jaskier was peppered with questions over their supper that night; bowls of steaming venison stew and freshly baked bread, accompanied by strong ale.

“Jaskier, how did you come to be called…Jaskier? That’s an unusual name,” Vesemir asked, gently.

“Oh, that’s not my _given_ name.” Jaskier’s voice was light, as if this wasn’t COMPLETELY NEW INFORMATION OF WHICH GERALT HAD NO PRIOR KNOWLEDGE.

“It’s NOT?” Geralt’s face was a mask of disbelief. He coughed, violently, having inhaled his ale. Ale was never meant to be inhaled.

“Of course not, darling. You wouldn’t expect the former Viscount of Lettenhove to name his child after a _weed_ , would you?”

WHAT. The WHO now? WHAT.

WHAT.

“What.” Geralt croaked. His bard – his _BARD_ – was NOBILITY?

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, current Viscount of Lettenhove, at your service.”

WHAT.

Geralt felt like he couldn’t move.

“My mother, Gods rest her soul, used to call me Buttercup when I was small. I decided to use that as my name when I studied at Oxenfurt.”

“So, wait a minute,” Lambert cut in “You’re telling me you’re a fucking viscount and you willingly hang around with Geralt…for fun?”

“Viscount-dom isn’t the exciting life it’s made out to be, my dear,” Jaskier replied, smiling. “Traveling with my darling Wolf has certainly made for better stories, no?”

Geralt felt like he couldn’t _breathe_.

“Geralt, darling, take a breath, would you? You’re turning blue.”

“You’re – “ Geralt stammered.

“A viscount. Yes, love. Deep breath. It only becomes relevant when someone sends assassins.”

Geralt made a strangled noise in his throat. “Assassins?”

“You know the type – generally human, armed with pointy objects? You’ve actually dispatched quite a few, I’ll have you know.”

“THEY WERE AFTER YOU?”

“Well, darling, of course they were. Who would send a _human_ assassin after a _witcher_?”

“Fair point,” Aiden said, from the other side of the table.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?”

“Geralt, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never asked me about my family’s history. Why would I have? They came, you conquered, life goes on.”

Everyone else at the table was looking at the pair with wide eyes.

“Well, Jaskier, I say come travel with Aiden and I – we’re more fun!” Lambert interjected.

Geralt growled. “ _My_ bard, Lambert, hands off. Get your own.”

Jaskier laughed, full and throaty. Geralt felt Jaskier’s hand on his knee, under the table.

“How did you two meet? To hear Geralt tell it, you tried picking him up in a bar and then wouldn’t stop.” Eskel said, chuckling.

If Witcher’s were able to blush, that’s what Geralt would be doing right now. Geralt saw Jaskier nodding beside him.

“That is accurate. What was that, love, twenty…two years ago, now?”

“Twenty-three.” Geralt rumbled. He’d been keeping track.

“Twenty-three…years.” Lambert said, sounding…skeptical. “Jaskier – how old were you when you met Geralt?”

“Oh, you scoundrel, don’t you know a man never reveals his age?”

“You don’t look more than…early twenties, wouldn’t you say, Eskel?” Lambert asked.

“Aye. Very early twenties.”

“Blessed with good skin, I reckon.” Jaskier said lightly.

“It’s ok, Jask, you can tell them. Your secret’s safe here.” Geralt said, sighing.

“What secret?” Lambert and Eskel asked together.

“Jaskier is…immortal.” 

“Can you repeat that, I thought you just said that this HUMAN was IMMORTAL.”

“I did. He is.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT FOR SURE. Have you _tried_ to kill him?” Lambert said, face a mask of ‘WHAT THE FUCK’.

“Do you know Yennefer, by any chance?” Jaskier asked, lightly, a smile on his face.

“He’s older than me, I know that for sure. Vesemir, he may be even older than _you_.”

“Hmm” Vesemir hummed.

“Oh, _now_ I see the family resemblance,” Jaskier laughed.

“…How,” was all Eskel said.

Geralt made a pinched face. “Jaskier has…fucked a lot of gods.”

“ _Someone_ break out the White Gull, we need more alcohol for _this_ story.” Lambert said loudly.

*****

Once the White Gull had been passed around, and everyone was indeed quite drunk, Geralt spoke.

“How many gods are we up to now, bard?” He slurred. “Eight? Nine?”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face scrunch up, like he was trying to remember.

“How did you find them?” Lambert asked, eyes wide.

“Well, it’s not like I put up a flyer,” Jaskier chided, gently. “Really, _they_ found _me_.”

“How many, bard?” Geralt repeated. His need to know was a burning coil in his gut that had taken on a life of its own.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “More than eight.”

“How _many_.”

“Well, Queen Tiana and Kind Tunder don’t count, as they weren’t technically _gods_.”

“Jaskier.”

“Ten.”

Geralt felt his eyes go wide. He counted on is fingers. Taking out the faeries, that left seven gods.

Ten was more than seven.

“What-“ Geralt started.

“Well, after that business with the mountain,” Jaskier began.

Ah. The mountain. The adventure of which they no longer speak. When Geralt had said some… _truly_ regrettable things to his bard. Geralt was, to this day, still honestly surprised Jaskier had forgiven him.

“After…that, I found myself in dire need of some solace, so I went and found the nearest Elven ruin, and drunkenly summoned whomever was available.”

Geralt paused. “Who…was available?”

“Kreve, Huldra and…Rarog, I believe.”

“Bard, you had a divine _orgy_?” Eskel croaked.

“Well, I guess that all depends on what your definition of ‘fuck’ is.”

“So, the GOD OF POWER, the GODDESS OF LUST and the GOD OF FIRE?” Coen asked, mouth hanging open.

“Indeed. Huldra, admittedly, made sure the evening was…quite memorable.”

“An _orgy_.” Geralt repeated.

“Yes, Geralt – I know you know what one is, because of how we met Yennefer,” Jaskier said, with a smirk.

“What…what was Rarog like, bard?” Eskel asked, sounding amazed.

“He was quite lovely, actually – stepped out of my campfire, if you can believe it. Quite an entrance.”

“And Kreve?”

“Bolt of lightning.”

“Huldra?”

“She just appeared. Not everyone can have a fancy party trick.”

“What did – what did you do?” Geralt found himself asking.

“My darling Wolf – that may be a conversation better suited for behind closed doors.”

“The keep door is closed, bard,” Aiden said, eagerly.

“Oh, kitten, I’m sure your imagination could come up with better visuals than anything I might be able to paint for you,” Jaskier said, lightly.

Geralt _highly_ doubted that. He knew (not intimately, mind you, a fact he found _QUITE VEXING_ ) how skilled his bard’s tongue was.

Geralt wanted to know, on a very, _very_ intimate level, just how skilled his bard’s tongue was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Thoughts?
> 
> We're almost there, folks! One more chapter, and then the BONUS chapter!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Comments are always so truly appreciated!
> 
> I'm [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com) on Tumblr - stop by and yell at me, if you're so inclined!
> 
> And as always always, Stay Safe and Be Kind! 💖💖


	11. AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT FOLKS. THE CHAPTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.
> 
> Geralt and Jaskier get a puppy!
> 
> Oh, shit, wrong fiction. Just kidding. They do not, in fact, get a puppy. Roach would never approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank [Blaire Seton](https://oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co.tumblr.com/) for her kind donation of Gina to this chapter - long live the Lube Sorceress! You can also find Blaire's work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaire_Seton)

“Darling, can we make a stop in Oxenfurt? I’d like to stock up on…supplies.”

Four months. Four months of having his bard all to himself at _home_ was over. Four months of having _his_ bard in _his own bed,_ his own _very comfortable bed_ was over. Geralt had never wished for prolongation of terrible weather more in his life.

It wasn’t like they were _parting_ – goodness, no. The thought of being separated from his bard made his guts seize up quite unpleasantly. Just the _thought_ of Jaskier being ensconced in someone’s court, instead of being ensconced in Geralt’s arms made Geralt see red.

“Sweetest – I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere without you.” Jaskier’s calm voice broke through his reverie. Geralt felt Jaskier’s nimble hand on his forearm, making sure Geralt knew he was there. “So Oxenfurt, yeah?”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, agreeing.

*****

“GINA!” Jaskier hollered, as the bell over the door dinged.

They’d stopped in front of a quaint shop, all whitewashed wood, paned glass windows with green shutters. Rows of blooming wildflowers lined the front of the shop and the walk. The shop itself was deceptively big inside – you’d never have known there were row after row of colored glass bottles, tubs of salves, ropes of hanging herbs above you from looking at the outside of the shop itself. Geralt was impressed – he’d never seen a sorceress’ (or sorcerer’s, for that matter) shop quite so…organized before. The order was calming, to Geralt.

“Jaskier! It’s so good to see you! And is that…the White Wolf I spy with you?”

At his name, Geralt turned to see a woman with bright red hair pulled back into a low pony-tail smiling at him. Geralt ducked his head and smiled slightly back at her.

“How can I help you gentlemen this morning? Jaskier – how did the healing salve work for you, last time?”

“Well, as Geralt can attest – it worked splendidly. It was truly a wonder. May we have three tubs, please?”

“Three!” Gina repeated, smiling widely.

“You know what I do for a living,” Geralt rumbled, smirking.

“No one here knows who you are, Geralt of Rivia. No one.” Gina replied with a wry smile. “Will you need any Witcher potions, while you’re here? Cat? Swallow? White Honey?”

Jaskier presented their written order to her, going over it with her to ensure she had everything they needed.

“And two of your…special recipe.” Jaskier said with a small smirk.

“Which size?” Gina asked, tone perfectly neutral.

Geralt watched Jaskier give Gina a very knowing look.

“Understood. Two, you say?”

“Indeed. We may be back.”

Geralt heard Gina’s tinkling laughter ringing from the back room of the shop.

*****

With errands done, and Roach’s saddlebags filled with potions and salves, they made their way further into Oxenfurt. Geralt was waiting for them to turn at the fork that lead to the University, and Jaskier’s rooms, but they didn’t. 

Huh.

Jaskier’s hand had returned to Geralt’s upper arm, as he led Geralt through the city. They continued past the merchant district, moving toward one of the two hotels in the city. The fancy hotel.

Hmm.

“Jaskier – where are we going?” Geralt asked, intrigued.

“To find a place to stay, my most darling Witcher.”

“But you _have_ a place to stay, Jask.”

“My love – my rooms don’t come with room service, and I do not intend to leave said room for anything for the next several days.” Jaskier purred into Geralt’s ear, a mischievous smile on his face.

_Oh_.

Geralt felt his… _everything_ clench up at Jaskier’s words. His nerves were buzzing with anticipation.

They made it to the inn and checked in in short order. Geralt tried not to herd Jaskier up the stairs, he really did. They were stopped at the base of the stairs by an old woman.

“Jaskier and Geralt – it is so good to see you together, my darlings.” Her voice was a balm, a warm bath; soft sheets; a comforting touch.

“Madame – have we previously made your acquaintance?” Jaskier asked, his face a mask of confusion.

“Jaskier. Child.” One of the woman’s hands stretched out to take Jaskier by the cheek. “ _Think_.”

“Sweet Melitele!” Jaskier exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder.

“My loves.” She replied, taking the hand from Jaskier’s cheek and coming to cup Geralt in the same manner. Geralt had a second to register his medallion vibrating on his chest before he felt her hand on his cheek and then –

There was Jaskier, upon their first meeting, telling him “I love how you sit in the corner and brood.” There was Jaskier’s bright smile, telling him he wanted to be the White Wolf’s barker. There was Jaskier and his huge blue eyes, the first time Jaskier had ever called him ‘darling’. There was Jaskier every spring, meeting him in Ard Carraigh, clapping his hands at the sight of his friend approaching. There was Jaskier after one too-close of a close call, holding him from behind before their campfire, telling him ‘I will never leave you, Geralt’. There was Jaskier’s soft, sleepy face 120 days in a row, waking up next to him at Kaer Morhen.

There was Jaskier, his _love_.

_Oh._

She pulled her hand away, smiling knowingly at the look of sheer adoration upon Geralt’s face as he looked at Jaskier next to him.

Geralt pulled Jaskier to him, lute banging Jaskier on the back at the sudden movement. Geralt pressed his lips on Jaskier’s, his hands holding Jaskier on either side of his face. Jaskier, for his part, was a bit stunned at this sudden turn of events, but took to it rather quickly, lips parting, teeth biting lips and tongue.

When Geralt pulled away, Jaskier inhaled, deeply. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh, my.” Jaskier said, eyes struggling to focus. Geralt touched their foreheads together.

“I love you.” He told his bard, voice hoarse with emotion.

“I know, my love. I love you, too.”

“Darlings. If I might have one last moment of your time, before you…retire for the evening,” Melitele said, quietly.

The pair turned to her, hands held between them. She held out her hand, palm up, two rings in the center.

“These are for you. With these rings, your bond will never be broken. You have my word. A love such as yours deserves divine protection.”

_Oh._

Geralt was speechless. Jaskier as well, unusual for one so verbose. However, the bard regained his composure quickly, taking the rings, and holding Melitele’s hands in his.

“Oh, sweet mother, we don’t know what to say! Or how to thank you!”

“Sweet child. You don’t need to thank me. Your stories have been such a gift to us. And you, Witcher, you’re doing _such_ important work, and you don’t even _realize_! Your bard has tried to show you, yet you resist. You should stop that.” She smiled at them both, touching them each again, just once, before she departed.

As soon as she was no longer in their view, Jaskier took Geralt’s hand and slipped the ring on his ring finger. Geralt took the other ring from Jaskier, taking the other man’s hands in his own, slipping the ring on Jaskier’s ring finger, opposite of Geralt’s.

Hands still clasped, Geralt pulled Jaskier upstairs with him, toward their room. Before they got to the top of the stairs, their lips were pressed together in a heated, passionate kiss. Lips twisted; tangled – teeth bit and nipped; moans mingled, mashed together, unable to be teased apart.

Neither remembered, later, who threw open the room’s door, opening into a lavish space filled with soft carpets, plush curtains and –

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED.

But our heroes are an official, certified couple now, surely you can’t be surprised?

In their haste to get on with the proceedings, bags were thrown down, although Jaskier did stop to take out one particular lidded jar, which was then set on a nightstand.

With roaming lips and hands, the pair fell upon the four-poster bed, fully clothed. Hands pulled at tunics, grabbing laces, pulling, pushing, grabbing until both lay bare before the other. There was the slimmest of spaces between their naked bodies, their skin not yet touching.

Geralt held Jaskier’s face in his hands, looking, searching, confirming.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, puzzled. “I know this isn’t your first time,” he said. “Why your hesitancy? I mean, it’s kind of adorable, but still. Are you nervous?”

Geralt looked at him, humming, as he found the right words. “Not nervous about what we’re doing, no. More about who I’m doing it with.”

Jaskier smiled. “I’m flattered,” he said. His hand reached down and squeezed Geralt’s cock. “But there’s nothing you need to be nervous about. I’m a big boy.” At that, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and put it on his own rapidly stiffening cock. “See? I can take it.”

There was a smile, and a rapid intake of breath. “I’d love to see how much of it you can take.” Geralt said, squeezing Jaskier’s cock in rhythm, stroking it up and down slowly at first, feeling it get rock hard. He leaned over to kiss Jaskier’s mouth, Geralt’s tongue forcing Jaskier’s lips open. A moan escaped Jaskier, as his breath caught. “Not so nervous now.”

Jaskier brushed his fingers down Geralt’s shaft, his fingertips brushing Geralt’s swollen balls. “Let’s see how else I can reduce those nerves.” With that, Jaskier brushed aside the blanket exposing them and their erect cocks, the heads glistening. He quickly straddled Geralt’s chest, his balls being tickled by Geralt’s chest hair. He leaned down, his mouth quickly taking all of Geralt’s cock and started to gently suck. His tongue stroked Geralt while he sucked harder, his fingers tantalizing his balls, coming close and teasing Geralt’s tight ass.

“Gods, you’re amazing!” Geralt groaned. He felt Jaskier’s body shudder. _Was that a chuckle while he sucks on me?_ Geralt thought. As Jaskier continued to swallow Geralt, he slid his hips back so his own cock hovered over Geralt’s waiting mouth. “Come closer,” Geralt whispered. “I want it all.”

The two men lay there, one on top of the other, their mouths working on each other in perfect sync. Jaskier’s cock slid down Geralt’s throat with ease, each thrust making Geralt hungrier for more. Suddenly, Jaskier stopped everything he was doing.

“Turn over,” he said huskily. Geralt paused for a moment, realization soon dawning on him. He flipped himself onto his stomach, and then drew up his knees, his ass in the air, hungry and waiting.

“That’s what I was waiting for,” Jaskier said. He smacked Geralt on his right ass cheek. “You seem to have gotten into position rather quickly. Should I make you wait?”

“No. Please.” Geralt whined. “Fuck me. I need you in me.”

Jaskier chuckled again. “Patience, patience.”

Swiftly he moved directly behind Geralt, placing his hands on his ass. Firmly and slowly, he spread Geralt’s cheeks apart, marveling at his lover’s tightness. Bending down he ran his tongue from Geralt’s hole down to his balls and then back up again, barely penetrating him with the tip of his tongue. He heard Geralt hiss. “There’s more coming, don’t be in such a rush.” Jaskier tut-tutted.

Geralt tried to relax, when he felt Jaskier’s fingertip, slightly wet with lube from the nightstand, explore the area between his ass cheeks. Very slowly, he felt that same finger enter him, bit by bit. He gasped as the first of Jaskier’s knuckles slipped inside him, and then moaned as the second one filled him. Jaskier began moving his hand, his finger sliding in and out. After a few minutes, Jaskier added a second, then a third finger, working them in just as slowly. While he was getting fingered, Geralt groaned from the pleasure, not wanting it to stop.

“I think that’s loose enough,” whispered Jaskier. He slid his fingers out and Geralt felt Jaskier straddle him. The lube covered tip of Jaskier’s cock pressed against Geralt’s gaping hole.

“Tell me how much you want it,” Jaskier teased.

“All of it. Fuck, all of it.” Geralt pleaded, moaning.

The fat head of Jaskier’s cock pushed inside Geralt, his ass opening at the intrusion. As Geralt’s eyes rolled back in his head, Jaskier’s shaft pushed further and deeper. He started to pull out, then slid back in, a little deeper this time. Geralt felt Jaskier apply more lube to his ass and then begin the in and out motion that Geralt was craving.

“How’s that, do you want more?” Jaskier asked, groaning.

“Yes _please_ , more, more, more!” Geralt gasped as Jaskier’s cock rubbed his prostate.

Jaskier increased his rhythm, getting faster and faster, his balls slapping against Geralt as he fucked the Witcher’s beautiful tight hole.

“It’s time,” Jaskier growled, not letting up the pace. “Tell me, where do you want this cum that I’ve been saving up for you?” 

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” Geralt panted, aching for more. Every other thrust of Jaskier’s cock brushed his prostate, and had him seeing stars. Jaskier fucked Geralt’s ass even harder.

“Turn back over and get what you want,” Jaskier purred, slipping out of Geralt.

Geralt flipped onto his back, and grabbed his own cock, stripping it like a man gone wild, beating it fiercely to cum as hard as he could. Jaskier was still between his legs, stroking his own cock, his fist a blur.

“It’s all yours, my love,” said Jaskier. “Every drop.” Jaskier moaned loudly and began to cum, thick ropes of white spraying all over Geralt’s body, his cock, even his chin. “You look so beautiful covered in me. Now give me yours.” Jaskier commanded.

At that, Geralt began to spurt wildly, a geyser of cum shooting straight up. Jaskier smiled and dropped his mouth to surround the head of Geralt’s cock, getting the delicious liquid he had been hungering for. He continued to suck until Geralt’s throbbing stopped.

Sitting up, Jaskier licked his lips clean, and laid down next to Geralt, his arm draped over his lover’s broad chest. “Didn’t you say something about seeing how much *I* could take? I think we may have to start over.” Jaskier looked at him, his eyes sparkling.

“You are insatiable,” said Geralt. “I like that in a bard.” He kissed Jaskier on his lips, which tasted like cum. “Delicious. Now your turn to flip over.”

AND THEN THEY FUCKED. 

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not have been possible without the help of the heart of my heart, WordSmith Husband. He has far more experience with M/M sex than I do, as I am not, in fact, a man. His prior experience was just the thing I needed to ensure Jaskier and Geralt's lovin' was reflected accurately and lovingly. 
> 
> Thanks to all my readers, as well! Your comments and kudos have really kept this whole train rollin', so to speak. I have enjoyed writing this series IMMENSLEY and am so glad so many of you enjoy it as much as I do!
> 
> NEVER FEAR! There is STILL ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO. I hope to have it up by this Sunday.
> 
> I'm [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr - stop by and yell at me if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, Stay Safe and Be Kind! 💖💖😘😘


	12. BONUS CHAPTER: Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS CHAPTER BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT.
> 
> Geralt and Jaskier are treated to some very, very sweet dreams.

Geralt was dreaming.

_They were back in Kaer Morhen. Geralt awoke in his bed, in his room, with Jaskier lying beside him. Geralt was cozy, the warmth of the blankets and furs on top of him lulling him into a kind of half-sleep. He could feel the heat of the hearth to his right, a comforting flush on his face. He heard the crackle of the logs burning in the fire; the wind whistling outside the castle. He could smell Jaskier next to him – the calming scent of chamomile and honey, the scent of their lovemaking the previous night, of **home**. _

_Jaskier was buried into Geralt’s side, his face nestled into Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier’s long limbs were wound around Geralt like vines on a trellis. Jaskier had always been a cuddler, however became much more fond of clinging like ivy while they wintered at Kaer Morhen. Geralt, of course, didn’t mind in the least – mornings like this were his favorite; before Jaskier was awake, and Geralt could just… **imagine**._

_But Geralt didn’t have to imagine anymore, now did he?_

_He didn’t have to imagine Jaskier’s sleep-hardened cock pressing against Geralt’s thigh, the uncoordinated attempts at rutting against his leg in Jaskier’s sleep. Geralt didn’t have to imagine the soft moans coming from Jaskier’s mouth, as Jaskier’s thigh moved over Geralt’s hip to settle firmly over Geralt’s groin, and his hardening length. Geralt didn’t have to imagine himself following the contour of Jaskier’s muscular thigh, muscles built from their time together on the Path._

_Geralt wasn’t imagining running his hand up Jaskier’s thigh, from knee to ass, Geralt’s large hand grasping Jaskier’s firm backside with a groan of appreciation. Jaskier’s ass was just…a marvel. Geralt had always thought so. The clothes Jaskier preferred were deceptive in their cut – looking at him, you’d think Jaskier was willowy, a waif of a man. Geralt knew better._

_Much, much better. Over their years of friendship, as it has been said, they’d shared many an unclothed moment. The first time Geralt had seen Jaskier fully naked, he’d almost fallen over. He was expecting slender, lanky limbs, much like Jaskier’s fingers (and oh, his **fingers** ). He was **not** expecting the exquisitely muscled, defined pectorals; the fine outline of abdominals; the broadness of his shoulders; the positively brawny biceps. Geralt was not expecting **any** of that._

_Geralt’s admiration of Jaskier’s form was limitless. He continued his exploration of Jaskier’s derriere with a groan. Jaskier, still sleeping, continued his unconscious rutting against Geralt’s thigh, beads of pre-cum drip-dripping onto Geralt, and the bed below. Geralt reached over toward the nightstand on his right, grabbing the pot of slick and wrenching off the top one-handed. Dipping a finger in, he resumed his worship of his lover, using his slicked finger to lightly trace around Jaskier’s rim._

_Jaskier let out a loud moan. He was waking, but not fully awake yet. Geralt found himself grinning. The gentle traces led to a more insistent press, which pulled even more pretty moans from his love. The rutting became more coordinated, more insistent. Jaskier’s arms gripped Geralt more firmly, holding himself in place. Geralt slipped his first finger inside Jaskier, eliciting a moan from them both. Geralt was met with little resistance, as he slid in and out, in and out, slowly, **so** slowly. When Geralt’s first knuckle slipped inside, he felt Jaskier shudder, and more fully awaken. Jaskier hadn’t opened his eyes, but Geralt could tell from his heartbeat that he was once more in the land of the conscious._

_“Oh, **OH** , Love, good morning,” Jaskier crooned. “Oh, Geralt, please – more! Please!”_

_“Morning,” Geralt smirked. “Turn over, Lark, and I’ll give you more,”_

_Jaskier scrambled to untangle himself from Geralt, settling on all fours. Geralt moved behind him, swiping his fingers through the pot of slick once more. He pushed Jaskier’s legs further apart, giving himself more room inside the triangle of his legs. He used one hand to pull Jaskier’s cheeks further apart, opening Jaskier more fully, enjoying the resultant obscene moan it pulled from his love._

_“I’m gonna enjoy watching you fall apart,” Geralt growled._

_“Please, please, Geralt, please,” Jaskier keened. Geralt licked his lips watching the tip of Jaskier’s reddened cock weeping pre-come._

_“Gonna fuck you so good, Lark,”_

_“Need you, Geralt,” Jaskier panted._

_Geralt replaced the finger inside Jaskier, able to slide fully in, due to the new angle. Two strokes had Jaskier keening again, pressing back against Geralt’s hand._

_“MORE,” Jaskier almost shouted. Geralt complied._

_A second finger, pressed apart, widened, making Jaskier sob. Geralt began scissoring his fingers, then added a third. Geralt began searching for that special spot inside Jaskier, the spot he knew would have Jaskier seeing stars._

_He found it. Upon discovering this spot previously, he found if he pressed with just the right amount of pressure, he could make his lark sing the most filthy, delicious things._

_Like he was doing now._

_“Oh, fuck, Geralt, yes, oh, Gods, yes, right there – harder. Harder, fuck. Fuck me with your fingers, love, yes – show me, show me how much you want me, show me how I belong to you,”_

**_These_ ** _songs were music to Geralt’s ears. His ears only._

_“Want to see how much I want you, bard? How you’re **mine**?”_

_“Yes, Geralt – Gods, yes!”_

_“You want to be **mine** , my **bard** , see what you do to me?”_

_“Geralt – I need, I need-“_

_“What do you need, bard? **Tell me**.”_

_“I need you, inside – need you to fuck me,”_

_“Want me to fuck your ass, claim you, make you smell like me, so everyone knows who you belong to?”_

_“Geralt!” Jaskier begged. “Please!”_

_And with that, Geralt removed his fingers, and sank his own painfully hard erection inside his love. Slowly at first, because Geralt was not a small man, but even this speed was drawing the most delicious pleading from Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier was now mostly incoherent; a moaning, keening incoherent mess underneath Geralt._

_Once he was fully seated and had bottomed out inside Jaskier, he began fucking him in earnest. He canted Jaskier’s hips down, slightly, to improve the angle for Jaskier so with each thrust he hit his prostate. Over, and over, and over, and over._

_Jaskier’s first orgasm came with a surprised shout, and a delicious spasm around Geralt’s cock._

_“I’m not done with you yet, Lark – you think you got another one left in you?”_

_“Please, Geralt, fuck me, fuck me so hard, Geralt, please –“_

_Geralt didn’t have to be told twice. He pounded into Jaskier, hips snapping, his pace faster than any human was capable._

_And Jaskier couldn’t be happier. Happy, garbled nonsense kept falling from Jaskier’s lips, followed by wailing, and sobs of ecstasy._

_Geralt felt himself nearing his release – the coil of tension in his gut getting tighter, and tighter, the harder he pounded his love. His **home**. He grabbed hold of Jaskier’s cock underneath the smaller man, already half hard again. He stroked – once, twice, three times, and Jaskier was fully erect. Geralt smeared pre-come over the head, using his thumb to rub circles as his own cock rubbed against Jaskier’s prostate without ceasing. Jaskier was sobbing, his arms clutching pillows to his chest, sobbing Geralt’s name over, and over. Geralt could tell Jaskier was close, and started stroking over, and over in time with his own thrusting._

_Jaskier came with a shriek, his own release pushing Geralt over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, and lasted far longer than any he’d ever had before. Jaskier continued to shudder below him, seemingly similarly affected._

_Once they’d both calmed, Geralt gently, oh, so gently pulled out, placing butterfly kisses all over Jaskier’s back. Geralt got up, gingerly, and took a cloth to the basin of water on his dresser, to clean them both. Jaskier had moved out of the wet spot, and Geralt sat on the bed, gently cleaning Jaskier, making sure to use delicate movements over the tender areas. He then cleaned himself, throwing the cloth on the floor._

_He rejoined Jaskier on the bed, the other man wrapping himself once again around his Witcher._

_“I love you,” Geralt told Jaskier, kissing the side of his head._

_“And I you, my love.”_

Geralt’s eyes opened, and he realized he was no longer sleeping. He looked over, and saw Jaskier wrapped around him, as in the dream from which he’d just awakened. Jaskier also seemed to be waking up.

“Darling, you would not believe the dream I just had-“ Jaskier started. “We were back at Kaer Morhen, and we were in bed-“

“I woke up before you, and started waking you up,”

“And it was delicious, you were using your fingers, but then-“

“You woke up, and I told you to turn over-“

“And you opened me up properly-“

“And we fucked-“

“And we fucked-“

The two looked at one another, brows furrowed.

“Sweetheart, did we just share a dream?” Jaskier asked, face a mask of confusion.

“I…think we did.”

“What’s that on the table?” Jaskier asked, pointing to a piece of paper. Geralt, as always, the one closest to the door, got up and padded barefoot to the table across from him. It was a single piece of paper, which he read and handed to Jaskier.

**_‘You two were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to disturb your slumber any more than necessary. I hope you enjoyed your sweet dream. Congratulations on the consummation of your union! May you be blessed with nothing but sweet dreams from now until the end of days.’ Lilit_ **

_Oh_. Well, isn’t that something.

*****

When they’d finally managed to rouse themselves from the coziness of their bed, and each other, they wandered downstairs to get whichever meal they were nearest, time-wise. They rounded the corner of the stair, to walk to the bar, when two sets of eyes fixed on them from their seats at the bar.

Two sets of familiar eyes.

“We won,” a deep bass voice boomed from the far side. The woman, _Morrigan_ , next to him just smiled, knowingly.

“Svalblod!” Jaskier cried, happily. “Morrigan!”

And, to Geralt’s great chagrin, it was indeed the God of War himself. Next to the Goddess of war.

Joy.

“Easy, boy, he’s _your_ bard now, everyone is _well_ aware.” Svalblod said, winking.

“And we are all just delighted,” Morrigan laughed, lightly smacking Svalblod on the arm. “Witcher, _you_ now also go with my blessing, so I’d expect your burdens to lessen, in the foreseeable future. This also obviously extends to your Child Surprise, she has need of you both, please don’t delay.”

“Witcher – you will not find her in the castle, but to there you must travel anyway. Afterwards, you three must head to your Witcher fortress. You three will be safe, but it will not be easy. And Witcher – you must learn to use your words, for the cub. The War Goddess and I will do what we can to stem the tide for your ease of travel.”

Jaskier spoke up. “What do you mean, you _won_?” he asked.

“There was a betting pool, to see when you two would finally fuck. We won.” Morrigan replied

“What did you bet?” Geralt asked, confused.

“That it would take far too fucking long,” Svalblod said, laughing.

“What did you _win_?” Geralt was hesitant to ask, being a reasonable person.

“We’re now the Cub’s Godparents.”

He meant it literally. Geralt felt his stomach tie up in knots.

“Relax, Wolf. She will never taste true defeat, and we will always watch over her. She’s in good hands.”

This was most certainly not the conversation Geralt thought he’d be having this morning/afternoon/undetermined time of day.

Things were never dull when Jaskier was involved.

HE and JASKIER were INVOLVED.

Geralt felt like a piece of his heart that had been missing forever finally fell into place. Now, they needed to go find the third member of their little family.

**_Their family._ **

**_Home._ **

**_Finally._ **

**_THE END_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends, this is it! Thank you so much for coming with me on this wild ride!
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos! They truly, truly do make my DAY.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, especially now, Stay Safe and Be Kind!


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